


Ho! for the West

by learningthetrees



Category: Slow West (2015)
Genre: Canon Continuation, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:57:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5577475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/learningthetrees/pseuds/learningthetrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the shootout at the Ross homestead, Rose and Silas are left to bury the dead. Life for both of them had always been about survival, but even with the looming threat of more undesirables and the unexpected responsibility of a pair of orphans, they learn there is more to life than surviving. Even in the harsh west, there can be such a thing as home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silence

**Author's Note:**

> For a couple of reasons. One: My shipper heart just wants these characters to be happy. Two: Silas Selleck is such a dad (he taught Jay to shave for God’s sake) and he doesn’t know what to do about it. Three: There’s a lot that takes place between the shootout and the final scene, and I wanted to see it.  
> 

**Rose**

For a long moment, nothing moved in the Ross homestead. Rose knelt on the blood-soaked floorboards, shuddering so hard she could barely breathe. She’d seen her father fall. Everything — their flight out of Scotland, their travel across the plains and through the forests of the new country, their months of hiding out inside the cabin — it was all for naught. He’d fallen. Kotori had fallen. Shot dead, now painted in his own blood. She had cared for him, and she knew he’d cared for her as well. He’d helped her father. He’d asked for coffee every day, only to spit it out. He tried to protect her, and now he was dead, too.

And Jay. Good, sweet Jay, who had been her closest and dearest friend for as long as she could remember. Jay, who had followed her all the way from Scotland. By the time she had seen him, known him, it was too late. Jay was dead, and by her hand, too.

Rose was in a house of death. She was surrounded by corpses, and she felt utterly alone. After the incessant firefight, there was silence inside and silence outside. No more gunfire.

For the first time, Rose turned to take a good look at the man kneeling beside her. He was broad of chest and shoulders, his close-shorn hair matted with sweat and his face flushed, no doubt from adrenaline and pain. Fingers of blood were spreading along the floor under his left leg, and his left shoulder was bleeding as well.

“Where are you shot?” she asked. Her voice sounded too loud in the quiet.

“Here,” the man said, waving a hand over his calf, “and here.” He touched his left shoulder. “Think the bullets went clean through.”

Rose felt her hands itching to do something. If she kept them busy, perhaps she could put everything else out of her mind. Perhaps she could forget, just for a moment. She placed a gentle hand on the man’s leg, near the bullet hole “Does this hurt?”

“No.”

Rose put a hand on his right shoulder and steered him to lean forward. There was a hole in the back of his shirt, ringed with blood. “You’re right,” she said. “You’re shot right through.” Then she reached behind his knee, feeling across the blood-soaked fabric for an exit. Her hand landed on a spot and he sucked in a breath. “Sorry,” she said. Her eyes met his, and she did not see the fear or pain in them that she expected. Instead, she saw a resolute strength and a touch of grief. Not for himself, but for the boy lying in front of them. “I don’t feel an exit wound. The bullet must still be in there.” The man grunted. Rose stood up. “Here.”

She put an arm around his shoulder, steadying him and wedging her shoulder under his arm. He shifted his weight against her as he pulled himself to his feet, leaning away from his wounded leg. Rose wrapped her arm around his middle, using her other arm to brace against his chest. Together, they staggered across the room to the bed that had been her father’s. She tried not to think about the fact that he would never sleep there again. The man sat down and reclined, leaning back against the headboard and looking as cool and collected as if he were simply lounging around a campfire. Then a red bloom starting spreading across the quilt under his leg.

“Let me clean that.” Rose crossed to the kitchen, setting the day’s pail of water on the stove for it to boil. Then she reached up to the top shelf and took down the only bottle of whiskey her father had brought with them from Scotland. He had been drinking it sparingly so as to make it last. She ran her thumb across the bottle and then uncorked it. She let a swig spill onto the floor for her father, an old tradition. _For you, Da_ , she thought.

When she returned to the bed, the man was rending the sleeve of his shirt at the seam. It came apart in his hand and he held it out to Rose. She took it and doused it in whiskey. Then she eyed the man’s tattered trousers and, with a brief, apologetic look at him, knelt to withdraw her knife from her boot and started cutting away his trouser leg. She tossed the bloody rags on the floor behind her and then she cut the cloth in half. Rose dabbed the wound on his leg with the makeshift bandage. He closed his eyes as he rested his head against the headboard, and again, Rose was struck with the image that he was perfectly content. “Your shoulder,” she said.

The man opened his eyes and blinked once. “What?”

“I need to get to your wound.”

The man nodded. “Right.” He undid the first couple buttons on his shirt and, with a grimace and a stifled groan, pulled off his left suspender. He slipped his shirt down over his shoulder, exposing the wound. Rose swiped the cloth across his chest, slowly wiping the blood away. There was quite a bit of it, but Rose hoped that, since the wound was clean, it would heal without complication.

When the water was boiling, Rose grabbed two tea towels from the pantry and soaked one in the hot water, throwing the other over her shoulder. Then she did the same with her knife, letting it sit in the boiling water for a few moments to sterilize it. She turned back to the man, the towel in one hand and the knife in the other. “This is going to hurt,” she said as she sat on the bed beside him and inspected his leg. The man gripped part of his sleeve between his teeth, readying himself for the pain. Rose dabbed the wound with the hot towel, and then pried the knife inside. The man groaned. Rose felt the knife catch the edge of the bullet, and she levered the knife until the bullet squeezed out. She bound up the wound with the dry towel, pulling it as tight as she could.

“Can you feel this?” she asked, touching the man’s ankle. He nodded, his teeth still gritted. As long as he didn’t lose feeling in the rest of his leg, the bandage wasn’t too tight.

Rose sat back and pushed an errant strand of sweaty hair out of her eyes. The silent stillness had returned, and she was all too aware of the bodies behind her. She would have to dispose of them somehow. Some of them belonged to people she knew and loved, and some belonged to strangers who had tried to kill her. She didn’t know what she was doing, and a panic began building up in the pit of her stomach. Something brushed against her forehead, and she jumped. She looked up to see the man’s hand hovering by her face. “You have —” he started to say. Rose touched the spot to find it smeared with the man’s blood. She wiped it off with the back of her hand.

“I never caught your name,” she asked, looking at him to avoid looking elsewhere.

He clenched his teeth, like it was painful for him to speak it. “Silas,” he said. Rose leaned back on her heels, surveying him for a moment. He would make it, she decided. Then she stood and turned to face the dead.


	2. Fever

**Silas**

Nothing that had happened had been what he’d expected. But in hindsight, he shouldn’t have been too surprised with the turn of events. It was only a matter of time until he’d get shot. And Jay — well, it was honestly a miracle the boy had made it this far. Didn’t mean it wasn’t a shame. Silas had grown fond of him. But he couldn’t help but feel that he’d only postponed the event he’d interrupted when a man in a soldier’s uniform had a gun pointed at the boy. He hadn’t died then, and he hadn’t died when they came across Payne, but for God’s sake, if Jay had only stayed hidden like Silas had told him to, then —

No. It wasn’t worth it to think like that. What was done was done. Jay was dead, plain and simple. And so was Payne and the rest of his gang and a few other people Silas had never seen before. He saw their bodies scattered across the property, collapsed across the floor inside the cabin. And then he’d seen Jay, and his heart had stopped.

Even now, wrapped up in a quilt and feeling the steady pulse of pain in his leg, Silas didn’t think it was right that he lived and Jay didn’t. Sure, he’d given up on right and wrong a long time ago — about twenty years ago — but still, this wasn’t right. To Jay, the west was a world of hope and wonder, and in return, the west had killed Jay.

_Ho! for the west._

Silas wasn’t sure how long he lay there, but it wasn’t long enough for him to change his mind: He shouldn’t be here. He’d been content to welcome death, leaning against wall of the cabin, bleeding. If the moment had come, he wouldn’t have put up a fight. He would have taken the beating.

His eyes snapped open. He was unaware they were shut. The light in the cabin was golden now, the holes in the paper covering the windows letting in slants of twilight. He felt very alone, and that’s when he realized the dead were gone. The bloodstains on the floor had been ineffectively scrubbed at, and the whole place still smelled of hot gunpowder and blood, but the bodies strewn across the floor — Jay’s and Payne’s — were gone.

Silas threw his legs over the edge of the bed and his head protested, throbbing in response. He leaned his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands for a moment, willing the discomfort to subside. He took a deep breath and stood up the rest of the way. His joints and muscles ached at the exertion, and his left calf was so inflamed with pain that he could barely lean on it as he limped to the door. It had been left ajar, and when he pushed it open, he looked across the property and saw a figure tossing shovelfuls of dirt out of a sizeable hole in the ground. Rose. The very person he’d brought Jay across the territory to rescue, only to find that she was perfectly capable of protecting herself. The girl who had stared him down and pointed a gun at him through the window. The girl who hadn’t hesitated a moment to help him.

Silas limped through the doorway and onto the porch. He took one large step from the porch to the ground, his leg afire in protest. He made his way across the property, smoke rising from the wheat field beside him. His left leg thumped down in an unsteady rhythm, agonizing with each step. He watched as Rose lifted shovel after shovel of dirt from the grave. As he came closer, he saw a number of dirt mounds behind her. How long had he been asleep?

She looked over and stopped when she heard him coming. “You should rest,” she said, but Silas barely heard her as his eyes shot to the final body on the ground. It was all wrapped up in a white linen except for a telltale lock of black hair peeking from within the folds. Rose saw him look, and her eyes softened. “Would you like to say goodbye?”

Silas wasn’t one for needless ceremony, and speaking kind words over a dead body had never been a ceremony he’d understood. Even so, he looked at Rose and found himself giving a jerky nod. She stabbed the shovel into the ground and bowed her head. Silas followed suit, but no words came to him. What could he say to the boy whose death was all but his fault? What could he say to the person he’d failed? Rose shifted from one foot to the other, waiting. “Sorry, kid,” he said finally. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.

Rose leaned over and took hold of the makeshift shroud. Silas bent and grasped the other end, helping her slide the body into the grave. A shock of pain went through his shoulder, and he grasped it, silently cursing the false reverend that had shot him. Rose jammed the shovel into the dirt pile and began covering the grave. There was silence across the plain except for the wisp of the wind and the soft thump of loose earth landing.

“I’d have just burned them,” Silas said.

“Everyone deserves a burial,” Rose said.

Silas grimaced. “Most of them didn’t.” But he understood why she did it. If his arm would have let him, he would have joined in. Anything that would occupy his hands and mind would have been welcome. He stared out across the golden grass, the smoldering wheat field, the purple mountains jutting from the landscape far in the distance. For the first time in a very long time, he saw the world the way Jay must have seen it. It was beautiful.

A flurry of motion caught his attention. It was nothing more than a flash — something slipping behind the clothes billowing on the clothesline, trying to remain unseen. Silas turned and walked towards the line as quickly as his injury would allow. When he reached the hanging linens, he swept them aside with one hand. Two small, blonde children, a girl and a boy, were huddled together on the ground, holding each other and watching him with wide, fearful blue eyes. “Jesus Christ,” Silas muttered. Of course. With everything that had happened, he’d forgotten all about the Swedish orphans. He stared at them, and they stared back.

“What’s going on?” Rose’s voice startled him. She had come up beside him and peered around the clothes to see the children. She gasped. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Who are you?”

The children looked from Rose back to Silas. “They won’t understand you,” he said. “They don’t speak English.”

Rose glanced at him. “What happened to their parents?” He recalled the look on Jay’s face when they’d mounted their horses and left the children standing by the store. It was not unlike the look Rose wore now.

“They’re dead.” Silas could tell she was itching to ask him how he knew, so he was relieved when she didn’t. Instead of speaking, she held out her hands toward the children. The younger, the boy, looked at his sister, and an unspoken conversation seemed to transpire between them. The girl rose and took Rose’s outstretched hand, and the boy did the same, taking hold of her other hand. Rose turned and led the children toward the house. Silas followed at a distance, grimacing when he came down too hard on his left leg, pain jolting up through the limb.

When he reached the house, he hovered in the doorway, watching as Rose righted the fallen kitchen chairs, gathered up the broken dishes, and indicated that the children sit down. The girl did so first, and once again, the boy followed her lead. Rose went to the storage shelves, rummaging through them until she returned a few moments later holding a tin. She opened it and handed a thick slice of brown bread to each child. This time, the boy went first, taking a bite, and only once her brother had eaten did the girl take a bite. Rose did not tear her eyes from the children when she said, “Are you just going to stand there?”

It took Silas a moment to realize she was speaking to him. “I should get going,” he said. He didn’t belong here.

She straightened up, then, and sized him up. “Going where?” she asked. It sounded like a challenge. “You’re shot in two places. You’re dead on your feet. Where could you possibly be going?”

“I’ve made it until now,” he started to say.

“Barely,” Rose interrupted.

“Thank you —” His mouth stumbled over the words. “Thank you for your help. I wish you the best of luck. As for your new companions…well, like I said.”

But when Silas turned to leave, it was as if the cabin itself was spinning. He gripped the doorjamb, trying to right himself, but his vision was starting to darken. He heard a sound that might have been his name, but it was so distant and tinny that it didn’t make sense. The last thing he saw clearly was Rose’s face, white with fear, before the world blackened before him.

He was assaulted with a barrage of sensations. His skin was burning and then freezing, numb and then sensitive to the feel of wool crawling across it. He saw nothing against his eyelids but colors: angry reds and harsh oranges that only served to make him feel hotter. When he could feel his limbs, everything ached with such ferocity that he thought he might never move again, and then he was rewarded by a numbness so heavy, he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. He felt like he was floating, as he had when he woke up in the middle of the flood. And there was that sound again: Was it his name? It was repeating over and over —

— and then he was standing in the forest, a knife in his hand, with Jay sitting in front of him, his cheeks covered in lather. The scene was familiar, but it was overcast with an orange light, as if illuminated by the glow of an intense fire. “There’s more to life than surviving,” Jay said. His voice was faint and echoed like he was yelling from the bottom of a cavern. “There’s more to life than surviving,” the boy said again, “but first, you have to live.” Jay turned to look at him, but now a rivulet of blood was running from the corner of his mouth. “You have to live, Silas.”

And then Silas was spluttering, drawing a heaving breath, catapulting up in bed, his heart hammering against his ribcage. Nothing around him looked familiar, especially not the young blonde girl perched beside the bed, staring at him with her mouth agape. His tongue was paper-dry, and before he could try to form words, the girl got up from her chair and scuttled across the room, disappearing through the doorway. Silas tried to prop himself up, but his arms were so weak, they either wouldn’t or couldn’t obey him. A moment later, the girl reappeared, this time with a woman in tow. He recognized her — what was her name? Rose. That’s right. He was in Rose’s house. She was carrying a pitcher, and Silas had never been so excited for the possibility of liquid.

Without a word, Rose knelt and put the pitcher to his lips. He gulped the water, feeling it dribble down his chin and onto his chest, but he didn’t care. He could have drunk the whole thing in one draught, but Rose pulled the pitcher away when he had quaffed only half of it.

“What —?” His voice was rough and hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What happened to me?”

“You took a fever,” said Rose. “The wound in your leg became infected.”

“Fever? How long was I — how long was I out?”

“Nearly three days.”

“Three…” Silas twitched his fingers under the cover, reaching down so he could feel the bandage around his calf. It felt fresher than the strips of dirty fabric Rose had used to bind the wound before, and when he touched his fingers to his nose, he smelled the unmistakable stench of calendula. “Where did you learn to do this?”

Rose’s eyes dropped to the floor. “A friend,” she said, her voice solemn. “He knew how to use nature to heal. He…” She cleared her throat. “He died here.”

Silas wanted to say he was sorry, but before he could say anything, Rose brought the pitcher back to his mouth, and he was too thirsty to deny it. He finished the pitcher. “Are you hungry?” Rose asked. Any traces of sadness in her voice were gone — either that, or she was just good at masking them. Silas felt his stomach growl at the suggestion.

“I am,” he said. “Three days without food tends to do that to a person.”

Rose stood up. “I’m half-inclined not to feed you, just for that.”

The words hung between them for a moment, and then Silas smiled. “Was that a joke?”

“You sound surprised.”

She shot a small smile over her shoulder as she retreated into the pantry, her little blonde shadow a few steps behind her. Silas couldn’t help but let out a chuckle to himself. It was the absurdity of the situation — he was lying in a stranger’s bed, shot through in two places, being cared for by a Scottish fugitive and a couple of Swedish kids. How did he get here?

He didn’t need to ask himself that. He knew the answer: It was Jay. Agreeing to travel with Jay made all this happen. Trying to help Jay. Trying to help Rose. Silas had to appreciate the simplicity of it.

Rose came back, carrying a plate, this time alone. She sat down on the bed and reached behind him, propping him up on a stack of pillows. When he was seated upright, she handed him the plate. Silas barely looked at what was on it before grabbing whatever he could and stuffing it into his mouth. “The orphans are still here?” he asked when he paused in scarfing down food.

“They’re afraid to be far from me for too long,” she said.

Silas spoke around the bite of food in his mouth. “I could tell.”

“They were able to tell me their names, I think,” Rose said. “The girl is Eva and the boy is Jan.” Rose eyed him. “You don’t happen to speak Swedish, do you?”

Silas smirked. “No.”

“I thought not.” She sighed. “Maybe I can teach them English.”

“They’re going to stay with you?” Silas set the empty plate down on the bed between them.

Rose looked at him as if _he_ had spoken Swedish. “They have nowhere else to go,” she said, and that was the end of the matter. Rose leaned forward. “I need to check your dressing,” she said, pushing aside the blanket and fiddling with the bandage. As she did, Silas watched the way her dark eyelashes brushed against her wind-chapped cheek. He jolted when her fingertips brushed against his skin. “Sorry,” she said, pulling away the bandage. They both wrinkled their noses at the strong smell of the herb.

“I’m sorry for that,” she said.

“This is far from the worst I’ve ever smelled,” Silas said. He let out an involuntary grunt when Rose pressed against the wound.

“You’re healing well,” she said.

“What a relief.” Rose caught his eye, saw his wry expression, and shook her head.

“You’re quite cheeky for a man who was near death not two days ago,” she said.

“You didn’t say I was near death,” said Silas.

Rose raised her eyebrows. “Didn’t I?” It was Silas’s turn to shake his head. Rose picked up the plate and stood up from the bed. “Suppose I didn’t want to worry you.”

Silas stared after her as she left the room again.

 

 


	3. Sleep

**Rose**

She heard Jan whisper something to his sister when she entered the bedroom. The two were huddled in bed, the quilt pulled up to their chins, and although they weren’t smiling, they looked more comfortable than they had since Rose had found them. The first two nights, one of them had let out a soft sob every few minutes. It had taken everything in her for Rose, sitting up in the rocking chair beside the bed, not to gather them in a hug, but she knew they were still frightened of her. They hadn’t trusted her yet.

Now that she’d fed them and given them clean clothes and a place to sleep, they were starting to warm up to her. When the little girl had gestured to herself and uttered her name, “Eva,” and then pointed to her brother and said, “Jan,” Rose felt as though her heart might burst. Rose had touched her own chest and said, “Rose,” but that was as far as the conversation progressed.

“Are you tired?” Rose asked. She knew it was pointless — they didn’t understand her — but she needed to talk to someone. During the days Silas had tossed and turned in the throes of fever, the silence in the house had been oppressive. It reminded her too much of the silence following the shootout. Conversing was normal, even though everything else was far from normal.

Rose smiled at the siblings, and she saw Eva’s mouth twitch up at the corner for half a second. It was enough. Rose turned down the lamp on the nightstand and left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

Silas was still sitting up in bed, but his head was tilted back against the headboard and his eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but otherwise he was still. During his fever, he had shaken and stirred, so the stillness was welcome. Rose gathered up the dishes on the table, careful to keep them from clanging into each other, and brought them to the wash basin. Then she returned to the table and sat down, staring at the scarred tabletop. Moments like this, when she had nothing to do, the panic threatened to return.

It had taken days for her to realize the nature of her situation. Losing her father and Kotori and Jay had been enough of a shock, but as time passed, Rose remembered she was still a fugitive. There were still wanted posters hanging up across the west with her face plastered on them; bounty hunters were still seeing the reward and preparing their weapons. The “reverend” and the group that had arrived just after Silas and just before Jay were only the first — there would be more. Rose was sure of it. She was also sure that, if they arrived, she would not be able to fend them off on her own.

There were a few boxes of bullets for the rifle, but the ammunition for the pistols had been exhausted. Add to that the two defenseless children and the bullet-riddled man taking up residence in the cabin, and Rose was outnumbered against anyone who might come to collect the reward on her head.

Tears stung at her eyes, but she wiped them away. Crying was pointless. It wouldn’t help anything. It felt silly to cry, but when she considered everything that had happened, it seemed the only possible course of action.

There was the sound of a rustle and then a clomp, and Rose lifted her head to see Silas struggling from the bed. Without a look at her, he stood and hobbled to the front door, pulling it open and disappearing through it into the dark. She sniffed and stared at the closed door. After a few moments, the door reopened and Silas re-entered the cabin, tightening his belt buckle. He crumpled back down onto the mattress, the bed beneath him squeaking until he stilled. He glanced over at her from under his eyelashes, his head leaned back. The light from the lamp on the table just barely illuminated his features.

“You look tired,” he said. His voice was softer than usual.

Rose shrugged. She wouldn’t admit, not even to herself, how exhausted she was. She’d only been able to get a handful of minutes of sleep while sitting in the rocking chair, but that didn’t bother her. She couldn’t sleep without being barraged by the lifeless eyes of her father, Kotori, Jay. At least when she was awake, she didn’t see them.

“It gets easier,” he said. Rose’s brow creased. “Losing people. Your heart gets harder to it and…you move on.”

“I’ve lost people before,” Rose said. “I was three years old when pneumonia took my mother.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t remember her, though.” She didn’t know why she was telling him this. He was more or less a stranger to her. Somehow, she felt the words she’d been biting back — the confession that had been gnawing at her — slip out. “I’ve never killed anyone until now.”

Silas was silent for a moment. “That gets easier, too.”

“I don’t want it to get easier,” she said. “I don’t want to have to do it again.”

“No one wants to,” said Silas. “It’s just one of those things needs done sometimes.”

Before, Rose would have had a hard time accepting this adage. She came from a world where honest men and women scratched a living from the earth, toiling day in and day out, having children, dying peacefully in old age. Killing to survive — it was new to her. It was necessary, she knew, but that didn’t mean her hands didn’t tremble whenever she recalled the feeling of the pistol in them. That didn’t mean she didn’t glance over at the place where Jay had died and wonder why her finger had to be the one that pulled the trigger.

“How do you deal with it?” she asked, her voice so hushed, she wondered if he could even hear her. “Knowing what you’ve done?”

Silas sighed. “You put it away. Tell yourself it was you or them and don’t let it lick you.”

But he didn’t know what she’d done. He couldn’t know she was the reason Jay was dead. If he knew, would he think differently of her? Would he go? Rose took a deep breath, steadying herself. Her limbs were feeling heavy, her mind fuzzy, and she knew she needed rest, a whole night’s worth.

“Do you have a place to sleep?” Silas asked, as if he’d been privy to her thoughts.

Rose shrugged. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“You need to sleep.” He was right. She considered it. The orphans were small, but so was her bed, and she didn’t think there would be room for the three of them. The rocking chair had been enough for the past few nights, but at the moment, she didn’t even feel up to walking into the other room. Silas, realizing she would not be easily convinced, sighed, got out of the bed, and limped to the table where he sat down heavily in the chair across from Rose. Then, with an outstretched hand, he indicated the empty bed.

“I couldn’t,” she said.

“You said yourself I’m healing well. I’ll survive. Sleep.”

She was about to say something in protest — something about how he was her guest and how he was injured and how she would be fine just as she had been for the past three days — but before she could, Silas said, “Rose.” His voice was low, almost pleading, like it had been when she’d pointed a gun at him through the front window only a few days ago. She realized there would be no arguing with him. She stood and settled herself down on the bed; it was still warm where Silas had been lying. She would lie down, but she wouldn’t sleep. She stared up at the ceiling, at the circle of yellow light emanating from the lamp. The light dimmed as she watched it, and she looked over to see Silas turning down the lamp. He left the wick just barely exposed so the room was awash in a wan light. He leaned back and propped his feet up on the opposite chair.

“Silas?” Rose spoke into the near-darkness.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”


	4. Touch

**Silas**

He had never been woken by a crying child before. As the youngest in his family, Silas never had baby brothers or sisters who wailed into the night or early morning, so the sound was foreign to him. In fact, when the first sob split the air, Silas pitched forward out of his half-sleep, his feet landing on the floor and his heart racing. He stood up immediately, his leg agonizing him, and crossed to the door, opening it and stepping into the inner room.

“What is it?” The boy sitting up in bed whimpered, reconsidering his sobs in the presence of a strange man. His sister woke, starting when she saw Silas in the doorway. He wondered if they recognized him. The girl put an arm around her brother, and although his lip quivered, the boy did not cry again. Jan. That was what Rose said his name was. Jan, and his sister was Eva. Silas had spent so long trying to put their faces out of his mind that putting names to them felt strange. It had been optimistic Jay who had suggested they take the orphans in, and it was realistic Silas who’d had to put an end to it. He always found himself having to say things like that.

“Come on,” Silas said as he left the room. There was an early morning chill in the air — the bedroom even chillier — and a blue glow was filtering in through the windows. No doubt, it was morning. He didn’t know whether the children understood him, but he left the door open and, sure enough, when he looked back, Eva was peeking through the doorway with Jan holding her hand.

Silas walked across the room, careful to keep his uneven footsteps silent so he wouldn’t wake Rose. She was lying in the same position all night, which told Silas she had been much more tired than she’d let on. He assumed that such a deep sleep would take nothing short of the cavalry to disturb it, but he didn’t want to test that. Rose had done enough for him; he could at least keep quiet while she slept.

He bent at the stove, keeping his left knee as straight as possible. After keeping his leg still all night, it was now difficult to maneuver — the stiffness gave way to fresh pain as he moved it. After opening the stove door, he saw there was no kindling on the fire, so he added a bit, struck a match along the floor, and set it ablaze. He straightened up, turning around to see Eva and Jan seated at the table. Jan’s legs were so short, they did not reach the floor as he swung them back and forth.

They’d be hungry. Right. Silas limped past them to the pantry, where he inspected the shelves. The Rosses kept a lot of canned vegetables, preserved fruits, oats, and flour. It reminded him of his family’s larder when they’d lived in Ireland: just the necessities. He shifted the jars, looking behind them for anything that might be suitable. Hadn’t there been bread? He picked up a jar of peaches and peered at the bottom. It looked decent enough, so he brought it back and set it down on the table. He screwed off the lid and walked back to the pantry, looking for a spoon or something else to eat it with. It was difficult to locate anything, what with all the cooking implements and food items hanging about. He did find a canister of coffee that still smelled fresh.

He was about to give up when he heard a stifled giggle and turned back to see Jan holding a handful of orange goo, his cheeks bulging with peaches. Both children froze when they saw him looking, but he just gave them a crooked smirk. He added the coffee to a kettle of water, limped over to the stove, and settled it on top before returning to the table. Eva was now reaching into the jar, feeling around until she was able to capture the slimy peach. When she bit into the fruit, her eyes widened, as if she’d never tasted anything like it. Jan giggled again, and once Eva had eaten her share, Silas reached out. The girl hesitated, and then she slid the jar across the table to him. He fished out a slice and swallowed it whole.

The heat from the stove was beginning to radiate through the room, and the sun was rising across the plain, sending a glow through the windows. Silas pushed the jar back to the children, and between the two of them, they finished it in a couple of turns. Once they’d sated their appetite, they became more energetic, whispering in Swedish and poking at each other. Jan leaped up from his chair and ran around to the other side of the table, daring his sister to chase after him. Eva glanced at Silas, gauging his approval. He heard the kettle begin to hiss and hauled himself to his feet, liberating it from the stove before it squealed. He found a tin cup sitting on the sideboard and, after sniffing it and deeming it acceptable, Silas poured some coffee into it. When he looked over, Eva was standing and peering around the table, weaving back and forth to convince her brother that she was going to lunge. She gripped the chair, and as she swayed from side to side, she knocked the leg of the chair into the side of the table, resulting in a resounding crack.

Rose gasped as she opened her eyes. Both children jumped at the sound. Rose looked from Jan to Eva to Silas, and only then did her heaving breaths subside. Silas picked up the kettle and another cup before shuffling over to the side of the bed. “Coffee?” he said. His voice sounded gruff and gravelly in the early-morning peace. Rose nodded and sat up as Silas poured her a cup. He waited until she was propped up before handing it to her. She gave him a weak smile and took a sip.

“How long did I sleep?” she asked after she’d swallowed the coffee.

“Hours,” said Silas. His own sleep had been intermittent and unrestful, but every time he’d glanced over at her during the night, she’d been asleep.

“And the children?”

“They just woke up.”

Rose ran a hand through her hair, most of which had slipped from its haphazard braid. There was some color in her cheeks, and her eyes looked clear. She took another gulp of coffee before pushing back the covers, standing up, and shooting a smile at the children, who had resumed their game around the table.

“What have they been through?” she asked, although her voice was so low, Silas couldn’t tell whether she was talking to him or to herself.

He answered anyway. “Far more than any child deserves.” He still didn’t know how they’d been taken in by Payne’s gang or what they’d seen as a result, and he didn’t want to. He knew from experience what it was like to tag along with them.

“You said their parents are dead,” Rose said, turning her gaze back to him. He already knew what she was going to say next. “Did you —?”

“No, I didn’t,” he said before she could go any further. “Jay…” He cleared his throat. “Jay did.” Rose’s eyes widened. “He had to. Or, he thought he did.” Silas paused and revisited the scene. “Their parents were robbing a store. The storekeeper shot the father, and then the mother shot him. Then she saw me. She had a gun pointed at me. She might not have shot me. But she might have. Jay killed her.”

“What a shame,” she breathed, and Silas didn’t know whether she was referring to the demise of the orphans’ mother or the fact that Jay had killed her. Either way, it was true. Rose finished off the cup of coffee and set it on the table. The empty tin dinged. “I’ll be back,” she said, and she disappeared through the door into the inner room, closing it behind her.

One of the children let out a shout, and Silas’s body tensed, ready to try to take down whatever or whoever might be lurking — regardless of the fact that he was unarmed and still limping from injury. But when he looked over at the siblings, now chasing each other back and forth across the floor, he saw they both wore grins. Eva even giggled. The resilience of children could be unbelievable.

The door opened and Rose emerged. She was wearing fresh clothes — still a pair of trousers, which, while unconventional, suited her well — and her dark hair lay loose about her shoulders. She reached up and started plaiting strands of it until it was in a simple braid down her back. She looked as though the grime and darkness of the past few days had been wiped away, an inner light radiating across her features. Seeing her freshly clothed made Silas wonder what he must look like, having recently arisen from a fever and being shot twice to boot.

Rose made a move to go into the pantry, but was blocked by Jan dashing in front of her at the last moment. She stopped suddenly, nearly toppling over to let him by, and once he was safely past, she let out a small laugh. It was just a chirp, really, a stunned reaction to the sudden movement, but it was the first time Silas had heard her laugh. The cabin seemed to be full of that today. The sun was steadily rising outside, and inside, people were laughing. Incredible.

Rose entered the pantry and stooped, sliding a large tin tub out from under a shelf. She gripped the handles of the tub and hoisted it up, balancing it on her hip. As she started back towards the front door, awkwardly holding the tub, Silas stepped forward. “Let me help,” he said.

She looked him over once, her eyes stopping on his leg. “You’re not well enough,” she said.

“I _am_ well enough,” he said. The stubborn look she gave him told Silas she was ready to put up an argument, and like last night’s discussion about the bed, he was prepared to counter her.

“I can’t ask you to do it.”

“You’re not asking. I’m telling. I slept for nearly three days. Let me do it.”

He could tell she was still considering saying no, but her eyes had lost their hardness. When he held out his hands, she paused a moment before passing him the tub. “I was going to get some water from the well,” she said, “and heat it for a bath. For the children.”

Silas nodded and carried the tub through the front door. He looked left and then right, straining his eyes for the well. He saw it, situated beyond the clothesline. Just walking there, saddled with the empty tub, took him longer than he’d anticipated. Maybe it was his leg, or maybe things were just more spread out here. It was something he’d come to notice — something he’d come to enjoy — about the west.

He let the tub drop to the ground and pulled on the rope dangling from the well. He assumed John Ross had dug the well, just as he’d built the house and planted the field. The man had dreams about his family’s future here, that much was clear. He may be dead now, his dreams dead with him, but at least Rose was still alive. That had to count for something. The bucket rose up the well, heavy with water, and Silas’s shoulder ached where he’d been shot. Despite all the scrapes he’d gotten into in his life, he’d never been shot before, and he didn’t know what the recovery would be like for a wound like this. When would he be able to move again without some part of him smarting?

The bucket reached the lip of the well and Silas emptied it into the tub. It barely covered the bottom. He sighed and lowered the bucket again, favoring his right arm as he pulled it up again. By the third bucket, he was feeling that familiar burn in his muscles of a grueling physical task. He filled the tub halfway, considering that he still needed to carry it back to the house and the children were small anyway. But when he stooped to pick it up, his left leg was struck with such searing agony that he let out an involuntary shout. He stumbled and the tub upended, all of the water spilling onto the dry grass. _Goddammit._ Silas fell to his knees, aftershocks of pain still rolling through his leg. He felt helpless — an unusual sensation, and not one he savored.

“Silas?” He heard his name float across the property and turned to see Rose racing towards him. He gritted his teeth as he hauled himself to his feet. “Are you all right?” She reached him and put a hand on his arm, her searching eyes meeting his.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

“I told you you’re not well enough,” she said, and this time, Silas didn’t protest. Then, Rose lifted her hand from his arm and just lightly brushed it against his cheek. He felt her feather-light touch skate across his jaw. Then she tore her hand and eyes away, and the moment was over before Silas could begin to wonder why it didn’t seem strange at all. “Let me help you.”

This time, he raised the buckets from within the well while she dumped them into the tub. When it was full, Rose took one handle of the tub and Silas took the other, and together, they traversed the distance back to the house. Once inside, they heaved the tub up onto the stove, which Rose must have rekindled. Eva and Jan were sitting on the floor, rolling marbles back and forth across the floorboards to each other. Every once in a while, one of them let out a triumphant exclamation in Swedish. Rose knelt beside them and began trying to communicate her intentions, a combination of slow speaking and gesticulations. By the time the water was hot, they understood well enough. Rose and Silas removed the tub from the heat, and Rose nodded at him.

“I can do the rest,” she said, and he nodded. He went out onto the front porch and sat down, running his hand along his jaw as if he could still feel her touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Check out [ask-learningthetrees.tumblr.com](http://ask-learningthetrees.tumblr.com/) for playlist tracks!


	5. Song

**Rose**

The children lost their last vestiges of shyness once they were splashing in the bathwater. They both wore wide smiles as they dropped the marbles into the bath, giggling at the sound of the plop. Maybe it was really that simple. Rose provided them what they needed — shelter, food, a bed, a bath — and they rewarded her with their trust. She just wished they could understand each other. Perhaps now that they had warmed up to her, they would be receptive to a lesson or two.

Rose swished her hand through the water, which had already grown lukewarm. “Water,” she said. She splashed a little, just for good measure. Jan snickered. “Water,” Rose said again.

“ _Vatten_ ,” said Eva.

“ _Vatten_?” Rose nodded. “ _Vatten_. Water.”

Eva touched the surface of the water. “Water.”

A wide smile burst across Rose’s face. “Yes! Good!” Eva smiled, too, sensing that she had done something right.

“Water,” she said again, and then Jan copied his sister and said the word, too. Rose knew it wasn’t much — just a word — but it felt like a victory. She let the children play in the water a little longer, recalling how bath times had sometimes been the only moments of childhood she’d had, and then she gestured for them to stand up and dry off. She and her father only had a pair of towels between them, so she’d need to launder them soon. Then her heart seemed to stop for a moment at the way she had so nonchalantly thought of her father. How could it have only been four days ago that she’d lost him? Since she’d lost Kotori and Jay? She told herself she had too much to focus on — caring for the children, fighting with Silas to get him to recuperate — that she had pushed mourning aside. But the thought that she had already forgotten her father and her friends broke her heart.

Rose remembered the children standing in front of her and returned to her duties, trying to convince herself that she shouldn’t feel guilty. Eva and Jan dried off and changed back into their clothes, which were dusted with grime. She’d have to find something else for them to wear, or perhaps make them something out of spare fabric. She’d never been extremely talented with a needle, but she might at least try something.

Now that they were fed and clean, the children would probably want to release some energy, to run and play, but Rose was afraid to let them outside. She felt that, at any moment, another band of bounty hunters would descend upon the house with guns blazing, and she dare not put the children in harm’s way. Not after everything they’d been through. At least while they were inside, they were a little safer.

Luckily, they were content to go back to their marble game after they’d fished the rest of them from the bathtub. Rose, having reminded herself of the imminent danger, retrieved the rifle from the where it was propped by the door and located the box of ammunition. She reloaded it and propped it against the back door where it would be easy to grab. She thought this small precaution would make her feel more secure, but it didn’t. All it did was serve to show her how unprepared she was for another firefight.

Rose traversed the room, careful eyes on the floor in case of errant marbles in her path. She pushed open the front door to find Silas sitting on the porch step, a cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. He turned when he heard the door open. “There’s still water left,” she said.

He smirked. “I’m that filthy, am I?”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t kill you.”

Silas chuckled and stood. She noticed that he gripped the railing to help pull himself up. “Can I take a look at your leg?” she asked. He didn’t seem to be getting any worse, but she wanted to be sure the infection was gone. Silas bent and rolled up his pant leg, and Rose loosened the bandage to peek at the wound beneath. The swelling had greatly reduced since the fever had taken hold, as had the redness and weeping.

“Will I live?” Silas asked around the cigar.

Rose retightened the bandage and looked up at him. “I’d say so.” She didn’t say that he might walk with a limp for the rest of his life. He might have already realized this. She led the way back inside and headed to the pantry, taking inventory of what was still usable and what might make a good meal for the day.

She pulled down a sack of flour and then picked up a jug of water from the table, deciding to mix bread dough. After a moment, she realized the children had grown quiet, and she looked down to see Eva hovering at her elbow, watching her stir the ingredients together in the bowl. Jan was busying himself with the straw broom, whacking it against the wall. Such a poor toy for a child. Rose handed the bowl to Eva, and she smiled brightly and eagerly began stirring. The girl seemed to know what she was doing, and Rose wondered if she’d baked with her mother back in their homeland. She wondered whether Eva and Jan thought of their parents more often than she thought of her own father.

Rose glanced across the room to Silas. He had his sleeves rolled up as he peered in the small looking glass hanging on the wall. She watched, transfixed, as he swiped a wet rag across his face and jaw, scrubbing it through his short hair. Rose recalled the feel of his stubble beneath her fingers, spindly and yet somehow soft against the sharp line of his jaw. She berated herself for touching him so. Why had she done it? Perhaps she just wanted some form of contact. They’d been so close and something had drawn her to him. She felt silly for it now.

His eyes flicked to hers in the mirror and she looked back at the bowl that Eva was still diligently stirring. “Good work,” she said to the girl, taking it and scooping the dough onto the table. She began to knead it, and Eva followed suit. When the dough was ready, Rose slid the pan into the stove and then turned back to see Eva watching her with wide, expectant eyes. She wanted instructions; she wanted to help. Rose rooted through a crate and found a sack of potatoes and a potato peeler. When she proffered them to Eva, the girl reached out and took them, setting to work right away.

Rose was impressed; she judged Eva to be about eight years old, maybe younger, and yet she was perfectly capable. Rose, too, had grown up quickly, helping her father around the house after her mother passed. She always felt older than her twenty years. Rose removed her knife from its place in her boot, plucked a potato from the sack, and started peeling it. For a long while, the cabin was silent but for the slicing of potato skins and the straw bristles of the broom hitting the wall. It almost felt normal — a house full of quiet activity.

Soon, the yeasty scent of bread was wafting through the air, and Rose withdrew the pan, her hand wrapped in a rag to protect it from the heat. She took a little pleasure in seeing it had turned out: the crust over it brown and thick. She gave the first piece to Eva — she’d helped, after all. The next went to Jan, who shoveled it in handfuls into his mouth. When she crossed the room to Silas, he was sitting on the bed, propped up against the wall. He was so still, she thought he’d fallen asleep, but he looked up when she approached and took the slice from her. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low.

When Rose surveyed the room, she saw dozens of things that needed done. Preparing more food was first, and then laundering the towels the children had used, re-papering the windows, and trying to clean up the browning bloodstains on the floorboards. She didn’t even consider the outdoors: mending the fence and cleaning up the burned field. But she was still afraid to step outside for longer than a few minutes. Without another word, she started at it, putting the rising fear in her stomach aside.

 

* * *

 

By the time she lit the lamps throughout the house, the table was laden with food and the freshly laundered clothes were folded. Eva and Jan were eating stewed cabbage; Jan had first turned his nose up at the smell, but once he’d seen his sister eat a bite, he tried it and couldn’t get enough. Rose had a little, but her appetite hadn’t entirely returned yet. Instead, she was shortening a dress of hers, altering the hem and sleeves in the hopes that it would fit Eva. Silas had asked what he could do, so she’d delegated him to nailing new papers up over the windows. Her father had planned to install glass panes. Her heart panged at the thought.

Jan had a spoon of cabbage halfway to his mouth when he yawned, letting out a mewl as he did. Both children had gotten quieter as the evening had gone on, and now their eyelids were beginning to droop. Rose cut the thread with her teeth, tied it off, and stood up from her seat. “Bed time,” she said. She put a hand on each of the children’s shoulders, guiding them out of their chairs and into the bedroom. She lit the lamp and turned down the quilt, and Eva crawled in right away. Jan, however, grabbed tightly onto Rose’s hand and merely perched on the edge of the bed. “Lie down,” Rose said, even though she knew he couldn’t understand her. His lower lip pouted out and quivered. Rose petted his hair, but to no avail. The first cry burst forth from the boy’s lips, and Rose pulled him to her in a hug. It didn’t seem to comfort him, though; if anything, he began crying harder.

Rose pulled away from him and sat back on her heels, surveying him. Eva put an arm around her brother, but that did little to quell his sobs. Rose sighed, the sound of his sadness breaking her heart. She had hoped that, by now, the children would feel comfortable enough to sleep soundly, but she supposed that took time. He’d seemed so happy, so content, mere hours ago, but she knew that when darkness crept into the corners of the house, it could be difficult to think of anything else. She wished she could explain that he was safe with her, that he could fall asleep without fear, but even if she could have bridged the language gap, she could not have honestly told him that. She herself was afraid to fall asleep. She understood why Jan resisted slumber.

“What’s wrong?” Rose looked up when she heard Silas's voice to see him standing in the doorway.

“He must be frightened,” she said.

Silas crossed to the rocking chair beside the bed, each uneven step slow and methodical. Jan watched him with tear-rimmed eyes and, after a moment of unsure silence, started to cry again. Silas sat down and leaned forward, letting out a soothing, “Shh.” Jan stuttered to catch his breath and kept crying. Silas’s voice started low, just a rumble of a pitch, and as the boy quieted, Rose could hear that he was singing.

 _“On wings of the wind o’er the dark rolling deep,_  
_Angels are coming to watch over thy sleep._  
_Angels are coming to watch over thee,_  
_So list to the wind coming over the sea.”_

Jan fell silent, tears glistening on his cheeks, his bright blue eyes engrossed with Silas. Rose couldn’t place why the man’s singing sounded familiar, and then all at once, she recalled the sound of him singing a slow and halting hymn on the other side of the wall, back when she had been fighting for her life. That sound had been a reminder that she wasn’t alone. Jan leaned his head back against the pillow, nestled next to his already-sleeping sister.

 _“Hear the wind blow, love, hear the wind blow._  
_Hang your head over and hear the wind blow._  
_Hear the wind blow, love, hear the wind blow._  
_Hang your head over, love, and hear the wind blow.”_

The gruffness had dropped from his voice, his face alight with the song. He seemed like a different person — no traces of stubbornness or sarcasm. As Silas sang, Jan’s eyes drifted shut, and when Silas finished the last note, the boy’s eyes remained closed, his breathing even. Rose stood and turned down the lamp so it was just bright enough that, if Jan awoke, he wouldn’t be frightened by the dark. She left the room with Silas close behind her, and when she pulled the door shut, no cries issued from the room.

“Thank you,” she said. Silas sat down at the table, and she settled across from him.

He shook his head. “It was nothing.”

“He’s asleep,” Rose said. She met his eyes across the table. “That’s something.”

He held her gaze in the low lamplight. Rose felt something stir inside her, something apart from the fear that was always moments away from bubbling up. This was different. Again, she was struck with a desire to touch him, so she folded her hands together and kept them in her lap. A gust of wind hit the house, sending one of the papers at the window flapping wildly. Rose jumped at the sound, imagining a desperado sticking his pistol through the window. Silas was on his feet and, with a few deft hammers, secured the paper. Rose was already on edge, her muscles tense and her hands gripping each other tightly.

“There are more coming, aren’t there?” she asked. She looked up at Silas as he slid back into the seat across from her.

“Most likely.”

Rose tried to keep her breathing calm. “What do I do?”

Silas scrubbed his face with his hand and leaned his elbows on the table. It was clear to Rose he had thought about this, too. “You need to be prepared,” he said. “Vigilant. Can’t trust no one.”

Rose hadn’t trusted anyone apart from her father in a long time. Now, she only trusted the man sitting across from her. In spite of everything, he had been trustworthy. “I only have one loaded rifle,” she said, nodding towards the gun in the corner. “If something happens like before —”

“It won’t.” He spoke before she could even consider it any further.

“It could,” she said. “Folk will do anything for a reward. What’s to say there isn’t another group of men headed here right now, even worse than the first?” Rose didn’t mean to be so bleak, but now that she’d given voice to her fears, they were all spilling over.

“I won’t let that happen,” Silas said. His eyes were resolute.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll help you. Any way I can. I’ll stay here, if you’ll have me, until I know you’re safe.”

She had not been expecting him to stay, and yet, when he said it, a knot in her chest eased slightly. “Why?” she asked. “Why would you be saddled with me and two children that aren’t yours?”

“I owe you my life,” he said. “I know I was close to death.” He paused, and his eyes darkened for a moment. “And I owe it to Jay. All he wanted was to protect you.”

“You feel obligated to look after me.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You’re not some poor creature caught in a trap. You can protect yourself, that’s clear.” He lowered his head and looked up at her, his voice low. “I want to help you.”

Rose took in the man across from her — the man who had shown up unexpectedly, the man who had nearly died in her father’s bed, the man who seemed to understand fully the way this new world worked. She should have felt safer with him by her side, and she did, but she still saw blood and heard gunshots when she closed her eyes. Would one person really make any difference? She wanted to believe so, and Rose in Scotland would have, but Rose in the west was a different person. She had done things that had changed her, things Silas knew nothing about.

“I shot Jay.” Her voice was nearly choked as she said it. All this time, she had been holding the truth inside. Jay had meant something to Silas, she was sure of it, and he hadn’t known what happened to the boy. “It was me. I didn’t realize it was him and I killed him.”

Rose felt a hot tear tracing down her face. She wiped it away, but it was replaced by another, and another, until she felt them coating her cheeks, making her lips salty. She avoided Silas’s gaze.

“You were doing what you thought you had to,” he said finally. “Jay should have kept himself hidden.”

“He was trying to help me.”

“He ran into a firefight unarmed.”

Rose closed her eyes, the tears still coming. “I killed him.”

There was a long pause, and Rose was afraid to look at him. “You need sleep,” he said at last. It was not at all what she expected him to say. Maybe he was right, but she did not relish the prospect of trying to fall asleep. In the darkness, she would only be reminded of everything she’d done and seen and everything she might still have to do.

Silas stood, his boots scraping on the floor as he crossed to the stove. He put on some more wood and swung the door shut, making sure it was closed tight. The nights were getting colder. Soon, there would be a frost, and then snow. Rose had lived through a western winter already, and she knew they were dismal and dangerous. For now, she wrapped her arms around herself. Silas would insist that she take the bed, again. At least it would be warm.

She stood and slipped beneath the quilt, lying on her side and looking out over the room. Silas’s back was to her as he stacked the day’s dishes in the wash tub. She didn’t want to sleep, but her body betrayed her, eyes gliding shut. For a moment, she was suspended in warm darkness, feeling as though she was swaying on the sea. Every part of her felt submerged in water, not unlike the baths she’d recalled as a child. She glanced down at her hands, lifting them from the water, but they were drenched in thick, dark blood. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she was sure the blood was Jay’s. She wanted to scream at the sight, but she could not open her mouth.

Rose sat up, gasping, the scream ready in her throat. The back of her neck was sweaty, the quilt twisted around her. She thought she was alone until she saw Silas, sitting just outside the circle of light from the lamp, his left leg elevated on the opposite chair, his hat tipped down over his eyes. She drew several shaky breaths and looked at her hands; they were clean and dry. Even so, she could not convince herself that what she’d seen wasn’t real. She couldn’t shake the uneasiness in the pit of her stomach.

“Silas?” He raised the brim of his hat, and when he saw the state she was in, he sat up and leaned closer. “Will you lie down with me?” She didn’t know why she asked. He would surely say no. He did not know her, and she did not know him. But the thought of some contact, something tethering her to reality, was stronger than her doubts.

Silas didn’t say anything. She was prepared to roll over and try to keep herself awake for the rest of the night rather than face another nightmare. Then he stood and turned out the lamp. She heard his footsteps as he approached the bed, and then the mattress dipped as he sat down and tugged off his boots. Rose moved closer to the wall to make room, and he lay down on his back beside her. “Thank you.” Her whisper cut through the dark.

“Things seem worse in the night,” he said. She wanted to ask what things were worse in the night for him, but instead, she let her eyes close again. His steady breathing beside her and the heat radiating from him and the feeling that, at least for the moment, she was not alone soothed her to sleep. She did not dream.


	6. Heat

**Silas**

When he woke, it was dawn. It took him a few moments to remember where he was and what he was doing, and when his eyes adjusted and his senses returned, he realized that, sometime in the night, he had turned on his side and thrown his arm over Rose’s shoulder.

Silas immediately withdrew his arm and sat up, putting as much distance between them as the narrow bed would allow. He shouldn’t have done this. He wanted to help her move past her darkness in any way he could, but this was a mistake. She needed comfort, but not from someone like him.

He breathed deeply, a puff of steam emerging from his lips. He hadn’t pulled the quilt over him at all during the night, and now, his clothes were not enough to keep him warm. Slowly, careful not to jostle the bed, he got up. Rose stayed still, facing away from him, as Silas crossed to the stove. When he peered inside, he saw it was only embers. After stoking it and placing more wood inside, he rubbed his hands together and cupped them over his mouth, desperate to get some heat into them. His face was chilled, his toes nearly numb.

There was a pop from within the stove — a log splitting from the heat. Across the room, Rose sat up, turning to see where the noise had come from. Her eyes were heavy from sleep, her lips puffy. Then her eyes shot to Silas standing by the stove. “What is it?” she asked. He could tell what she was really asking: Were they under siege? He knew what it was like to fall asleep, expecting at any moment to be jolted awake by a gunshot or a knife to the throat. Years of living on the lam had sharpened his awareness so much that he couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept soundly. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“Just cold,” he said. “The fire went out.” Rose pushed the quilt off of her, and although she tried to hide it, Silas could see her shivering. She crossed the room and stopped a few feet from him. Before he could ask what she was doing, she closed the space between them, wrapping her arms around him and tucking her head against his chest. She felt so warm, but more than that, she felt _right_. It felt as if he’d held her before, as if he’d always held her. He encircled his arms around her. The uncertainty he’d felt when he woke up next to her all but melted away in her embrace.

“Is that better?” she whispered without moving her head from its place on his torso.

“Getting there,” he said. His hand on her back twitched, and he longed to run it through her hair. He wanted to know if it was as soft as it looked, but he didn’t want to overstep, so instead, he rubbed his hand along her back. She was no longer shivering. She looked up toward him. He was almost a head taller than her, so he lowered his head to look at her. Her hands slipped down to his waist, pulling him even closer against her. He could feel the rising heat of her body, could hear her unsteady breathing. Steam mingled between them as they exhaled. “Rose,” he breathed.

Then the fire popped again, and the spell was broken. Rose blinked and pulled away, and Silas let go. She brushed her hair behind her ear and glanced at the floor. Silas felt cold where she was no longer against him. “Coffee?” Rose asked.

“Sure.”

Rose busied herself at the pantry, dropping a tin that clattered against the floor. She set the kettle on the stove, and they sat at the table with silence between them as they waited for it to heat up. When it started to screech, Rose jumped. She poured him some, this time into a delicate tea cup, and he took a sip. She poured herself a cup as well, but she didn’t drink from it. Instead, she drummed her fingers against it, tapping out a tinkling, staccato rhythm in the silence of the room.

Silas needed something to occupy his hands, too, so he downed the rest of the cup. It was still a little too hot, but he choked back the cough. Early morning rays were starting to filter through the papered windows, just enough to bathe the room in a cool light. “Grab your gun,” Silas said, rising from his seat.

“Why?”

“Just follow me.” He went to the pantry, grabbing a couple of empty glass jars and bottles. Rose took the rifle and followed him. Outside, mist was hanging low on the plain, the peaks of the distant mountains poking out of the fog. Silas’s leg was still stiff, and he still couldn’t put all his weight on it, but sleeping in a bed, even for a few hours, seemed to have helped. They approached the fence, the one John Ross had been in the middle of constructing upon his death. Once they were both standing in front of it, looking down at the unfinished structure, Silas realized he may have made a mistake. He looked over at Rose, and she met his gaze, eyes dry. “It’s fine,” she said.

Silas set a jar or bottle every few feet along the fence and then limped back about five yards. Rose came to stand next to him. “How’s your accuracy?” he asked, lighting up a cigar. Rose lifted the rifle, cocked it, took aim, and fired. The first jar shattered. Silas raised his eyebrows. “Not bad.” He was being disingenuous — it was no wonder Rose had felled most of Payne’s gang singlehandedly. The girl was a good shot. “How about farther back?” They retreated a few more yards, and again, Rose’s shot destroyed the bottle. But he noticed she tensed up while holding the rifle, lifting her shoulders and stiffening her back. “Take aim,” he said, and again, her posture became tight. “Relax,” he said, tapping her shoulder. If he touched her any more than that, he might not let go.

Rose rolled her shoulders and dropped them. She leaned her head towards the scope. “Both eyes open,” Silas instructed.

“I know.”

Rose took a breath, and then Silas let out a shout. “Now!”

Rose flinched at the unexpected sound, and the bullet went wide, missing the bottle. She lowered the rifle and glared at him. “What was that about?”

“You need to be able to focus,” he said, “despite everything going on around you.” She’d been anxious and distracted when she’d shot Jay — he knew it. He was surprised to find out she’d done it; he’d assumed the boy had been shot by Payne, but not before he’d managed to get in a shot of his own. Even so, he didn’t blame her. He knew how easy it was to close one’s eyes and pull the trigger again and again, desperate to hit the mark. It was different when the target was not an empty bottle but a very real, very dangerous foe. And if more bounty hunters were on their way — which Silas was sure they were — Rose had to be able to hold her own, without putting herself or him in danger.

Rose lifted the rifle again, keeping her stance relaxed. “Breathe,” he said, and for a brief moment, he was staring down the barrel of a gun, listening to the orphans’ mother gasp for air. He blinked, and the memory passed. Rose took a breath and pulled the trigger. She hit the target and reloaded, hitting the next in a matter of seconds.

“Good,” Silas said. There was just one target left, and Rose leveled the rifle, adjusted her stance, and fired. The bottle shattered, the sound echoing across the plain. She rested the rifle in the crook of her elbow and turned to him. He raised his eyebrows. “How are you with a knife?” he asked.

And they spent the rest of the morning tossing knives, attempting to stick them in the wood of the fence. He showed her how to balance it, how to grip the blade just right so it would spin into position. He showed her where to aim — where, on an adversary, would be the worst hits. Her first couple of throws missed the fence entirely, but after a little practice, they started to glance off the fence. One struck home and stuck, quivering, in the fence. It was only once Silas’s stomach grumbled that he realized they had probably spent hours out here.

“We should go in,” said Rose, pushing her hair out of her reddening face. Even though she was clearly exerted, the yellow morning light caught her features just right. Her cheeks seemed to glow, her hair alight with gold. “The children might be awake now.”

Sure enough, they ventured inside to see the orphans seated at the table. They’d found a pair of books; Eva was flipping through one as though she were reading it, and Jan was shaking his about wildly, watching the pages unfurl. Silas sat down on the bed as soon as he entered. It was more of an instinct than a choice — his leg had grown stiff and achy. Rose set the rifle against the back door and then went to the pantry, taking down canisters and speaking to the children in a voice he couldn’t quite hear. Maybe at some point, they’d be able to understand. Maybe they’d even respond.

Rose set a pot on the stove and sat down at the table. She leaned towards Eva and pointed at a word in the book she was holding and said it. “King,” she said. Eva repeated, albeit with a bit of an accent. Rose glanced over at him and smiled. He chuckled. Jan tossed the book to the floor, evidently bored with it. Rose looked around the room for something to entertain him with. She stood and went to the pantry, returning a moment later with a tin cup. She plopped a marble inside and rolled it around. Jan stared, his mouth agape, transfixed by the sound. Rose smiled as she handed him the cup. He promptly dumped the marble onto the floor and dove down to retrieve it.

As Silas watched the scene — Eva pretending to read, Jan chasing after the rolling marble, Rose tending the pot on the stove — he realized with certainty what he had to do. Rose was a fine shot, but between the two of them, they had a rifle and a couple of pistols without ammunition. They needed more, and one of them would have to go find some.

He’d just assured Rose that he would be there for her, and now he had to leave.

He knew how it would sound to her, his plan, and she had no reason to trust him. But if they were to have a fighting chance against whatever undesirable came knocking on the door, they would need to be adequately supplied. He needed a few pistols and boxes of bullets. And he knew just where to find them.

Jan’s marble rolled across the floor towards him. Silas caught it under his boot before it could roll under the bed and sent it back to him. The boy grinned widely, catching the toy and sending it shooting across the floor and into the inner room. He went crawling after it, hands and knees thumping against the floorboards, and Silas chuckled.

Rose set down two bowls of steaming porridge on the table. Eva set down the book, took a bowl, and started eating. Rose glanced around the room, her eyes roving across the floor. “Jan?” she said. The boy jumped out from the bedroom, letting out a cry, and Rose jumped. Her eyes grew wide for a moment, her hand on her heart, and then she laughed. It wasn’t just the snicker of surprise from before — it was a full, long-lasting laugh. Hearing her laugh made Jan laugh, too, and then Eva was giggling along. Silas had to admit, it was a nice sound — real laughter.

“Here, eat,” said Rose, and Jan hopped up into the chair next to his sister. With the two children tucking in, Rose ladled another serving of porridge into a bowl. As she brought it over to Silas, he stood, suddenly very close to her. Rose’s eyes flicked up to his.

“Thanks,” he said. Her eyes were dark blue — he hadn’t noticed that before. Silas could almost hear her heartbeat thrumming in the space between them. He reached out to take the bowl from her hands before he did anything he couldn’t undo.

He sat down at the table where the children were nearly finished eating. He’d never realized how fast and voraciously children ate. They had splattered porridge across the surface of the table, and when he glanced at Eva, he saw that she had some smudged on her forehead. As he ate, he watched Rose pour the last of the porridge into a bowl for herself. She sat down, while Eva and Jan made a game of trying to flip their spoons across the table.

“They need real toys,” Rose said. Silas grunted in assent. “What do children like to play with?”

Silas looked up at her. “Has it been so long since you were a child?”

“Even when I was young, I wasn’t a child.” She took a bite of porridge. “When my mother died, I took on her responsibilities.” That would explain why she took care of everyone before herself, why she was always looking to the future. She may not have been a mother, but she thought like one. “I didn’t have much time for playing.”

“Children like dolls, balls, tops,” Silas said. He wracked his brains. “Beyond that, I don’t know.”

Rose shot him a small smile. “Has it been so long since you were a child?”

He chortled. “That it has. I try not to think about it.”

“Was it so bad?” she asked.

Silas sat back in his seat, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “My father was a farmer. He and my mother had seven children, lost three of them before they were a year old. We survived through a few bad winters, but most of our crops did not. Then my father came down with influenza. He and my sister died within days of each other. That’s when my mother decided we should leave Ireland.” He hadn’t meant to tell his entire woeful tale, but it felt right. Rose had been through darkness as well. Sometimes, it helped to know one’s story wasn’t the only one.

Rose’s eyes softened, her eyebrows lifted. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Silas shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Like I said, I try not to think on it.”

The children leapt up from the table and raced through the front door. Rose made a move to stop them, but Silas put out a hand. “They’re fine,” he said.

“How can you know that?” she asked. He could read the fear in her eyes. He knew the reason she hadn’t let the children out of the house.

“They’re not the ones with a bounty on their heads,” said Silas.

Rose dropped her hands into her lap. “I suppose that’s true.”

And just like that, Silas had darkened the mood in the room. He cleared his throat, casting his eyes about the room and searching for anything to break the moment. “The horses I brought with me — they’re gone?”

“I think they ran off,” Rose said. She was probably right. They would have seen them if they’d still been around. “Why?”

Silas took a deep breath. Rose’s eyes were wide, searching his. “I need you to trust me, Rose,” he said. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“I need to go.” She prepared to speak, taking a breath to spit out a response, but he continued before she had the chance. “Just for a little while. We need more guns and ammunition. I know where I can find some. It’ll only be a few hours.”

Rose’s mouth was trying to form words, but nothing was coming out. “I…I don’t understand. What if something happens while you’re gone? What if someone else shows up?”

“Then you’ll take the gun and do what you did before,” he said. “Look at me, Rose. This is the only way.” When he looked at her — so vulnerable, so fearful — he found himself saying the words he had been trying not to say. “I promise you’ll be safe.”

She breathed in and out, and then nodded. “Will you be all right, with your leg?” she asked.

It would take him a little longer, but he would manage. If he was remembering correctly, he wouldn’t have to go far. “I’ll be fine.” Silas rose from the table, grabbed the rifle, and held it out towards her. “Hold onto this.”

She took the rifle. Silas watched her for a moment, waiting for her to argue. Instead, she tightened her grip on the gun and set her jaw. He felt he should say something, but he had already said too much. He wanted to reach out and touch her. Instead, he balled his fist up against his thigh and turned towards the door, grabbing his hat from where it hung on the bed post. The sooner he left, the sooner he could return.

When he stepped outside, he saw Eva and Jan running across the property. Eva’s hair was flying behind her, and Jan toppled to the ground but picked himself up after a second and kept going. Silas perched his hat on his head, pulling the brim down to block the sun’s brightening rays. He started down from the porch, setting off toward the line of trees he and Jay had emerged from. The ground was fairly even, but still difficult to navigate considering his leg.

“Silas!” He turned at the sound of his name. Rose was running out of the house, leaping down from the porch. In just a few moments, she was upon him, grabbing hold of his shirt and pulling him towards her. Her lips hit his, soft and warm. But before he could pull her closer or even kiss her back, she pulled away, releasing her hold on him. He breathed heavily, his lips parted, still feeling the pressure where hers had been. “Go,” she said. And then she was turning and striding back to the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been my favorite chapter so far -- let me know what you think!


	7. Threat

**Rose**

Rose drummed her fingers on her knee, glancing at the rifle she’d set within arm’s reach. She should have been creating a strategy in case of the appearance of more undesirables, but all she could think of was how she and Silas had just parted ways.

She’d kissed him. Why had she kissed him? Why, when he was about to leave, when he was willing to sacrifice everything to protect her, did she think it was the right time?

Maybe that was why. Because there was no right time. If she had learned anything from the firefight that had descended upon the house, it was that life was fragile and uncertain. There was no guarantee that anyone would survive to the next morning. She knew, if she hadn’t kissed Silas, she might have regretted it. So why did she still feel foolish? Why did she do it at all?

It wasn’t just because he was there — she knew that. It wasn’t just because of his charming grin or the soothing, low tone of his voice or his broad shoulders. It wasn’t only because he sang Jan to sleep or because the look in his eyes made her feel she’d always known him. It was because he cared. No matter how much he tried to mask it, Rose knew Silas had a heart that ached for the loss of Jay and the fate of Eva and Jan. He wasn’t as hardened as those who had come to collect on the bounty. He was different; he hadn’t lost his humanity. He listened to her, trusted her, understood her — he knew how she felt before she’d even spoken it aloud. That meant something, and if she never saw him again, she wanted him to know.

 _He’ll be back_ , she kept telling herself. _He’ll be back_. But she found it hard to believe herself. During their flight through the west, Rose and her father had encountered all kinds of obstacles: the elements and the wildlife and other people. There truly were a thousand ways to die, and she could only imagine the kinds Silas might run into. The kinds that would not take pity on an injured, unarmed man. As frightened as she was for herself, waiting in the house for someone to find her, Rose was just as frightened for Silas.

She couldn’t keep still. Her fingers, her legs, her eyes — they were all fidgeting, her nervous energy expending itself. Finally, she stood and left the cabin, drawing her knife from its sheath as she went. Jan and Eva were sitting cross-legged in the grass when she passed them. Eva held up a chain of wildflowers, mostly wilted. Rose could just give her a small smile. Jan was digging through the dirt, using a rock as a trowel. They still needed toys, but Rose could only focus on one thing at the moment. She just wasn’t sure if that thing was her vulnerability or Silas’s.

Rose positioned herself where she’d stood earlier that morning. She held the knife the way Silas had shown her, the point towards her. She breathed in and then exhaled slowly, but it did nothing to relieve the knot of tension in her chest. Then she brought back her arm and swung it forward, releasing the knife. It stuck in the wood of the fence with a _thunk_. She barely noticed this victory, though. Rose trudged to the fence, wrenched the knife out, and resumed her position. She tossed the knife again and again, putting a notch in the wood each time.

Rose blocked all thoughts from her mind until the resounding hit of the knife was the only thing she was aware of. She wanted to achieve that utter focus that would allow her to shot a gun or throw a knife without the distraction of doubt. She never again wanted to act as thoughtlessly as she had when she’d shot Jay, didn’t want her mind to get in the way of her aim. She wanted to be prepared: a formidable match to whatever foe might appear. With each notch she put in the fence, Rose made herself a promise. She kept telling herself that if she just hit her mark one more time, Silas would make it back in one piece. If she struck the fence just once more, Eva and Jan would grow up unscathed. If she could just make a clean hit one more time, she would survive.

The grass crunched behind her, and Rose spun on her heel, clutching the knife, poised to let it fly. She was facing a tall young man wearing a ten-gallon hat, a pair of boots with spurs, and an amused expression on his face. He had a blonde mustache that twitched when he leered at her. “My, my,” he said. “Girlie knows how to throw.” Rose’s eyes shot to the man’s holster. “Ah, that’s my beauty,” he said, stroking the mother-of-pearl handle protruding from the holster. “My Colt. This lovely’s gotten me through quite a few scrapes.”

She gripped the knife tighter, partly to get a better hold on it and partly to keep her hand from shaking. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a person,” she said, “especially when she’s holding a knife.”

The man snickered, seemingly unconcerned, but she saw his eyes shoot to the knife for a brief moment. “You shouldn’t be out here on your own,” the man said. Then his grin became a lascivious leer. “You out here on your own, Pretty?”

“No.” Rose lied immediately. Instinctively, she moved a little to her left, trying to block the children from his view. But the man glanced behind her and saw them anyway.

“They yours?” He jerked his chin towards Eva and Jan. Rose swallowed, hoping to God they would stay put.

“Where I come from,” she said, “it’s considered impolite to barge onto someone’s property and question them.” She lifted the knife, remembering Silas’s instructions as to the places on a person where a strike would be most debilitating. She readied herself to do let the knife fly if she had to.

“And where you from, exactly?” the man asked. Rose clenched her jaw. Had she said too much already? Could he tell from the cadence of her voice that she was Scottish? She wished she had the rifle with her instead of just the knife — maybe then, he wouldn’t be quite so cavalier.

“I’m going to ask you to leave,” she said.

“And if I don’t?” The man sneered.

“You’ve seen how good my aim is.”

The man hooted. “Girlie has spirit!”

“ _Leave now_.” She pointed the knife at the man’s bare throat.

If he felt threatened, though, he didn’t show it. He just sniggered and raised his hands in the universal symbol of surrender. “All right,” he said. “No harm.” He took a few steps backwards. “But you best be careful, Girlie,” he called. “All sorts of bad folk lurking around here. You don’t want to get caught up in something turns nasty.”

She wanted to tell him she knew all about that — that if he stuck around, things were sure to turn nasty — but she kept her mouth shut, her lips screwed up, and her brow furrowed. The man turned on his heel, his hands still lifted, and trotted along the fence. Rose didn’t lower the knife until he disappeared into the tree line, and then it dropped from her grasp. She drew a few shaky breaths and realized there was a tear snaking down her cheek. She brushed it away. _Foolish, foolish._ There was no need to cry now. She was all right.

She turned to see the children crouched on the ground — Jan occupied with his marble, Eva now digging in the dirt with a rock. If they had seen the strange man, they hadn’t been concerned about him. Rose’s heart’s pounding slowed as she watched them playing. Before, when it was just her and her father, Rose had felt a jolt of fear whenever she’d spotted movement at the fringes of the property or heard a sound in the night that might have been someone trying to pry open the door. She had been afraid just for herself and her father then. Now, she felt that same jolt in her stomach, but it was for the children this time. More than herself, now, she needed to think of them.

Rose crossed the expanse of grass to where the children sat. Eva looked up, but Jan remained absorbed in his toy. “Come on,” Rose said, gesturing toward the house. Eva understood; she rose and grabbed her brother’s arm. Eva understood a lot — perhaps more than Rose thought. She led them back to the house, shunting them inside before she pulled the door shut and locked the latch. Only then did she realize she’d left her knife in the dirt.

She grabbed the rifle, and the feel of it in her hands made her more secure. There was a clatter from behind her, and then a cry. She whirled, heart racing again, to see Jan sprawled across the floor, a chair toppled beside him. He must have fallen. Rose relinquished her grip on the gun and knelt beside him, smoothing his hair, cooing. “Shh, shh,” she said. “You’re all right.” He seemed more surprised than hurt, and after a few moments, his cries subsided.

 _This is what is important_ , Rose decided. More important than her fear or the uncertain future was keeping Eva and Jan safe. They would need to eat, bathe, and sleep. And perhaps, somewhere in there, they would learn to communicate with her.

All she could worry about was the here-and-now, so she put the intruder out of her mind and forced herself to focus her attention elsewhere. She composed a short prayer that Silas would return safely, and then she stood up, brushing everything else from her mind. She would keep them safe — herself and the children. She had to do something, and that would be it.

 


	8. Trapped

**Silas**

He’d severely underestimated the impact of his injury. He was used to little scrapes and bruises — they came with the territory — but he’d never been hurt so badly before. That was something he used to pride himself on. _Not a mark on him_. Until now, anyway. What would have been a fifteen-minute walk in years past took what he estimated to be over an hour. It didn’t help that the ground became more and more uneven the farther into the forest he traveled, and that more than once, he was tripped up by a jagged rock or protruding root and nearly lost his footing. He had to concentrate on each step, making sure his foot was clear of any obstacle and avoiding strain to his already-strained left leg.

The focus on his surroundings was welcome, because it gave Silas a distraction from Rose. If he let himself, he could disappear into the feel of her lips on his, and that thought made him even more liable to step into a snake hole and twist his ankle or worse. He wished she hadn’t moved away so quickly, wished he’d said something, wished he’d taken her by the arm and pulled her back and kissed her harder, longer, properly.

But wishing didn’t change anything. Silas knew that all too well.

He emerged into a clearing and looked around, gaining his bearings. If he was remembering it right, his destination was due east, not too far from where he stood. Of course, he had to factor in his slowed pace. He took a deep breath, brushed away Rose’s image from his mind, and proceeded through the clearing, taking care to step over a rotting log as he went.

Beyond the clearing, the trees thickened, making it tougher to see ahead. When he and Jay had passed through Silver Ghost, he’d joked about it being haunted, but now that he was alone, every snap of a twig or rustle of a leaf made him pause and hold his breath until he was sure it was nothing. He was unarmed and vulnerable — he knew he’d make a good target. Even more, he knew that if anybody truly worth their salt was tracking him, they’d make damn well sure not to make a sound. If someone wanted to ambush him, they’d be upon him before he knew it was happening. That was something he used to be good at.  

Once.

It took nearly twenty more minutes for the tiny shack to appear between the trees in front of him. The structure was only about ten feet long by five feet wide, the cladding in disrepair and almost all of the shingles gone from the roof. It looked just as neglected as it had been when Silas had first come across it weeks ago — he just hoped no one had the same idea he had and ransacked it already.

Silas approached the shack and listened at the door. He waited for a few minutes but heard nothing, so he pushed the door inward. It screeched on its hinges, which made Silas cringe. Again, he waited, but nothing stirred inside or outside the shack.

There were no windows in the one-room out-building, so even though it was midafternoon, it was dark within. Silas fished in his pocket for a match and struck it against the doorjamb. It ignited and he held it in front of him as he took one cautious step over the threshold. The match provided just enough illumination for him to see the dark outlines of furniture: a single bed, a wardrobe, a table, and a few chairs. The floor beneath his boots was slippery with a thick coat of dust — the same dust that floated in the orb of light around the match. It was burning down towards Silas’s fingers, so he grabbed a new one and lit it from the first. Moving quicker now, he crossed the cabin and was rewarded by the sight of a gun rack in the dim light. He couldn’t help but grin. _Perfect._ Two hunting rifles lay across the rack, and Silas grabbed them, nestling them in the crook of his arm. The door to the cabin creaked shut behind him, making Silas start. He chided himself. _Just the wind._ He was being an idiot. Even so, he started moving faster. The sooner he could get out of here, the better. He turned and saw three pistols lying on the surface of the table next to a stack of boxes of ammunition.

He cursed when the match burned down to his finger and he dropped it, the cabin going dark again. But Silas had already seen what he needed, so he dropped his hand to the table and ran it along the surface until he felt the handle of one of the pistols. He tucked it into his belt and reached back to the table, his hand landing on the ammo. Once he had as many boxes as he could find in his jacket pocket and another pistol stuffed in the waistband at the small of his back, Silas turned towards where he thought the door had been. As he crossed the single room, his right foot collided with something solid — maybe the leg of a table or chair — and he let out another curse. Gritting his teeth, he moved forward, pushing open the squeaky door with his good shoulder.

He emerged into the daylight to see three guns pointed at him. They were held by three men, all with the same dark, grizzled beards. One wore a deerskin coat, the other two threadbare flannel. The one in the center was slightly taller and broader, and when he cocked his pistol, the other two followed suit.

“All right, friend,” the middle one, clearly the leader, said. Despite the fact that he was pointing a gun at Silas, he spoke with a jovial tone in a twang Silas couldn’t quite place. “Let’s put down those guns, yeah?”

“And why would I do that?” Silas asked.

“They don’t belong to you,” the man on Silas’s right said.

Their leader chuckled. “Amos, come on now,” he said. “You know we were planning to steal ’em, same as he was.” The smile disappeared from his face as he turned his eyes back to Silas. “But the fact of the matter is, partner, you’re in no position to bargain. We’ve got the upper hand here.”

Even if Silas could reach one of the guns, even if he could bring it up to eye level and even if it was loaded and even if he could take one shot, he could still only shoot one man at a time, and in the moment it would take for Silas to take aim and pull the trigger, he’d be shot by one of the others. He knew he had no option but to surrender, so he dropped the rifles.

“Ah, ah, ah,” the leader said. “All of ’em.”

Silas withdrew one of the pistols from his belt and tossed it to the ground in front of him. Then he raised his hands above his head.

The man in the center twitched his gun towards the weapons on the ground. “Get ’em,” he said, and the man to Silas’s left knelt to gather them. On the other side, Amos lowered his gun just an inch, a combination of complacency and fatigue. All it took was this brief moment, and Silas struck. He lunged, withdrawing the gun from the back of his pants and throwing an arm around Amos’s neck. He cocked the pistol as he rested it against the man’s temple. Silas was not ordinarily a praying man, but he prayed to God the pistol was loaded.

“Ohoho!” The leader was grinning — no, laughing. Full, hearty belly laughs echoed through the woods. Then, just as abruptly as they’d started, the laughs halted. Silas stared at the man, meeting his cold gaze. The other man had since gathered up the weapons and was now glancing back and forth between them. “Go ahead,” the leader said. “Shoot him.” Silas felt Amos’s body tense.

“Just give me the guns,” Silas said. He saw the other man move forward, ready to comply, when the leader spoke up.

“Don’t, Moses,” the man said, his strident voice cutting through the silence. Moses froze. Then the man laughed again. “We’re never going to give up the guns, friend, so you can just go ahead and shoot him.”

“Moses —” Amos’s voice was small and choked. “Moses, don’t let him —”

“God Almighty, I’ll do it myself,” the leader said, and he moved the pistol a few inches to the right and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed through the clearing, hot blood splattered Silas’s face, and Amos fell. Moses let out a shout, but it was too late — the man lay dead at Silas’s feet, a neat round hole in his forehead. Silas swung his arm up to point the pistol at the shooter. If this man was willing to kill one of his own, he wouldn’t even hesitate to shoot Silas. For some reason, he thought of Rose as he pulled the trigger.

There was a click, but nothing happened. “Shit.”

The man started laughing again, this time so hard and with so much gusto that he actually doubled over, bracing his hands against his knees. He wiped at his eyes and then looked up at Silas. “Ohoho,” he said, mirth still clear on his face. “That was good. You were really going to shoot me, weren’t you?” Silas looked up at him from beneath his brow, still clutching the worthless weapon. Like a switch had been turned, the grin dropped from the man’s face. “All right, enough of this. Moses.”

Something hard collided with Silas’s head, he felt a flash of pain, and then the world went black.

 

* * *

 

When he came to, his back was to a tree trunk. Silas tried to sit up and found that he was trussed to the tree. There was something sticky on the side of his head, probably congealed blood. As he focused his eyes, he saw the little shack was still in view, about ten yards away. Three horses were tethered to a tree, and sitting beside them on a stump with the two rifles on his lap was the man who’d struck him — Moses. Behind him, the door to the shack was propped open. Silas assumed the other man, the laughing one, was inside.

This wasn’t the first time Silas found himself hog-tied and held hostage. It wasn’t even the second or the third. Hunting bounty often led to disputes, where every man was for himself and any move was fair. In the past, he’d gone along as much as he could, lying low, playing the game until he found a better angle. But this was different. Something about this laughing ringleader was different — he was dangerous, more so than anyone Silas had ever come up against. A man who would kill his own compatriot for no reason? Not even the worst person Silas could imagine — not even Payne — would do that. This was a man using the lawless west as an opportunity for his own darkness.

And then there was Rose. He shouldn’t have promised her she’d be safe. How could he know that? Sure, she could fend for herself, but for how long? She only had one gun, and if he didn’t make it back —

The laughing man appeared in the doorway of the cabin, looming. He had several saddlebags heavy with provisions slung over his shoulders, a pistol tucked into the front of his pants. He sauntered out of the shack towards the tree where Silas was anchored.

“Hooey,” the man said, running his fingers through his beard. “You joined the living again, have you?” Silas glowered up at him, but this only served to make him laugh again. “So, what were you planning on doing with all those guns, friend?”

“I’m not your friend,” Silas said.

The man shrugged one shoulder, conceding this point. “What were the guns for?” Silas set his jaw. “You’re holing up for something, huh? That’s why you needed all the firepower?

“You have what you wanted,” said Silas. “Why does it matter?”

The man smirked. “Well, now, because you’ve caught my interest. Man alone, on foot, unarmed, walking with a limp, breaks into a hunting cabin and steals all the weapons he can get his hands on — that’s a fellow I’d say is guilty of something. Running away from something.”

All at once, Silas recognized the signs the way the man had described them. The same signs he looked out for when he was after a bounty — signs of suspicion. This man thought he was a fugitive. Hell, he wasn’t too far off.

“So, what is it?” the man asked, crouching in front of him. Silas glanced up at him. “What are you running from?”

“Not running from anything,” Silas said.

The man shook his head. “See, I just don’t believe that.” He looked over his shoulder at his comrade. “Moses, you believe that?”

Moses, too far away to hear, squinted. “What?”

The man waved him off. “Never mind. I can tell when a man’s on the run from the law. I’ve seen it plenty.”

“I’m not —”

The man let his hand fly, a rigid backhand across Silas’s face. His mouth filled with blood and he spat it out, all the while glaring at the man before him. “Hush.” Then the man touched Silas’s cheek tenderly, like a father would his son. “You know, I get the same money whether you’re alive or dead.”

Silas had to hand it to him. If he’d been in the stranger’s shoes, he probably would have tied him up as well. Only —

“You’ve got no proof,” Silas said. “What reward are you after, hunting me?”

But the man didn’t say anything. He just continued to smile. He straightened up, fingered the handle of the pistol and turned to walk back to Moses.

“I don’t think Geoff is comin’,” Moses called to his comrade.

“Then we leave him behind,” the other man said. “That good-for-nothing cowboy can take care of himself.” Silas watched as the two of them conferred, but they lowered their voices, too quiet for him to hear. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were deciding whether to kill him now or later.

Rose.

He’d faced death before — countless times. He never resigned himself to it, but there were times, like when he’d lit a cigar outside the Ross cabin, he would have accepted it. But never before had a single name or face materialized in his mind’s eye the way Rose’s did.

He couldn’t let himself die. Not while Rose was waiting.

The men were still speaking, their voices rising, although Silas still couldn’t discern any words. One of them threw a glance in his direction every few moments. Silas tested the strength of the rope binding him — it was secure. He tried to remember what he had on his person: a couple of cigars, a compass, they would have taken his knife, matches —

Silas’s mouth twisted into a half-grin. _That might just work._

Maneuvering his body, being careful not to attract attention, Silas strained against the rope, his fingers dipping inside his jacket and just falling short of the matchbox in his pocket. He reached, stretching as far as he could until his fingertips brushed against the box. It tipped out of his pocket and tumbled onto the ground in front of him. Silas froze, but his captors weren’t looking. Their conversation was growing more heated, with the unnamed man gesturing wildly, the sound of his voice carrying across the distance. Silas nudged the matchbox with his toe, pushing it closer to himself until he could get a hold on it.

He’d just managed to wrest a match from inside when he saw the man withdraw the pistol, point it at Moses, and pull the trigger all in a matter of seconds. Moses slumped down, his chin to his chest. He might have been sleeping if it wasn’t for the stream of blood and the bullet hole in his head.

Silas struck the match and felt the heat of the flame near his fingers. It was hard to see, but he held the match as close to the rope as he could judge. Then he strained against it, pulling away from the tree trunk, hoping some combination of the fire and the pressure would snap the rope.

That’s when the laughing man who had just killed his two companions turned to look at Silas. He saw the flame and charged towards him, wearing a scowl that looked nothing like glee. The man withdrew his pistol, aimed, and fired. Silas twisted out of the way, feeling the rush of air as the bullet whizzed by and burrowed itself in the tree trunk. Silas felt the flame scorch his fingers, and yet he didn’t put it out. The rope was thinning — he could feel it. With one last tug, Silas mustered all the strength he could, and the rope snapped. He grasped the rope, pulling it along with him as he stumbled to his feet.

The man was nearly upon him, cocking the pistol again, so Silas dove at him, throwing all his weight against him and taking them both to the dirt. They rolled. The man trained a kick at Silas, hitting him square in the bad leg. Silas groaned as he struggled to get the upper hand, grasping the handle of the pistol and pointing it away from himself, twisting the man’s wrist as he did. The gun dropped to the dirt. Silas gripped the front of the man’s shirt, holding him still as he punched him once, twice. Blood dripped from the man’s nose, but his eyes were wild. From his place on the ground, the man lunged, reaching for Silas’s throat. Silas seized the opportunity and looped the rope around the man’s neck, pulling tight until he no longer felt the man move beneath him.  


	9. Fortified

**Rose**

It was night. The candles on the table were dwindling, dollops of wax dripping onto the wooden surface. Rose kept finding herself staring at the flame — it felt comforting for some reason. She could lose herself in it and try to forget.

Try to forget the fact that it was now night and Silas was still gone. He’d said it would only be a few hours, but hours had long since passed and night had already fallen. She’d kept her mind occupied throughout the day, keeping it away from thoughts of him, but now that night had come, the worry returned.

Wherever he was now, it was dark, and if Rose knew anything about the west, it was that nighttime was the most dangerous. During the night, the world belonged to the creatures that inhabited it. People no longer had domain, and it didn’t matter if they were saints or sinners — a hungry animal was a hungry animal.

Rose had no way of knowing whether Silas was on his way back now or the dinner of a mangy wolf or worse. So, she stared at the flame, lulling herself into a state of near-hypnosis. Maybe, if she was lucky, she’d fall asleep here, sitting up at the table.

She heard a clomp and turned; Eva was pulling the bedroom door shut behind her. She was wearing one of Rose’s old nightgowns, and it dragged on the floor behind her like a bridal train. “What is it?” Rose asked, as if the girl would answer.

“Water.” Eva’s voice was a whimper, and Rose thought she’d misheard.

“What?”

“Water,” said Eva, this time a little louder. Then she cleared her throat for good measure.

“Water? You’re thirsty?” Rose scrambled up from her chair, reeling from the understanding between them. Rose went to the basin and ladled out a cup of water, drawn fresh from the well earlier that evening. She brought the cup back to Eva and handed it to her. The girl smiled before gulping it down in a few swallows. After she’d had her drink, Eva handed the cup back along with a word. “ _Tack_.”

Rose didn’t have to be told what she was saying; she could see it in her eyes. “You’re welcome,” she said. “Now let’s get you back to bed.” She guided the girl back into the bedroom and tucked her in next to her sleeping brother. Rose smoothed back Eva’s hair and, after deliberating for a split second, pressed a light kiss to the girl’s forehead. When she pulled away, Eva’s eyes were already closed, a slight smile on her lips.

Back in the front room, Rose opened the door just a hair and peered out. It was black outside — it always seemed darker out here than it ever had in Scotland. The only lights to be seen in the west at night came from the stars, but tonight, dark gray clouds covered them over. Rose heard a light wind rustle through the grass, but nothing else. She pulled the door shut and latched it again, settling down on the bed. Leaning back against the headboard, she tried to think only of the moment she’d shared with Eva as her eyes drifted shut.

She may have dreamt about Silas, but when she woke, she didn’t know for sure.

What she did know wake up knowing was that she couldn’t wait around for danger to present itself again, just like she couldn’t simply wait around for Silas to return. She had to rely on herself, much like she had before all of this had happened. Somehow, she would summon that part of the Rose from Scotland that still existed in her. The part of her that did what she needed and damned everything else.

It was still early — the sun was just rising, a golden haze filtering in through the window coverings. A peek into the bedroom told Rose that the children were still fast asleep, huddled against each other under the quilt. They looked safe and warm and blissfully unaware. Holding that thought in her mind, Rose retreated through the front room and out the back door.

There was some chicken wire stored in rolls, sitting against the house. It had been her father’s plan to keep some chickens and some cows, too. Maybe even some sheep, if they were lucky. He’d wanted to make this new home as plentiful and sufficient as he could; he’d wanted to provide for them. He still could, in some small way.

Rose looked back at the cabin, her hands on her hips. She tried to see it the way an intruder might, someone who wanted to do her harm. She transformed her vulnerability into strength. The back door was less fortified, easier to sneak up to. She dragged the roll of wire inside with her and nailed up a swath of the wire on the inside of the door, effectively creating a barrier. Someone strong might be able to push their way through it, but it would at least hold them off for a little while.

Rose stepped back, looking over her handiwork. It wasn’t perfectly done; not all the nails were hammered completely into the wood, and there were sharp edges of wire sticking out. She bent them back so the children wouldn’t accidentally brush against them, pricking her thumb in the process. Sucking on it, Rose waited for a moment to see if the hammering woke the children. All was quiet.

What else? What else? Now that she’d started taking precautions, she didn’t want to stop. Working calmed her mind, eased the anxiety that always seemed to be waiting in her chest. She was doing something; she was taking control. She would learn from what had happened before.

She crossed the cabin and pushed open the front door, her eyes landing immediately on the partially decimated wheat field. Kotori’s flaming arrows had set most of it ablaze, but her father had planted the field so there was a walkway between two sections, enough for him to walk through when he would need to harvest. The gap in stalks had been large enough that the fire hadn’t jumped across. She might have been glad that some of the crops survived, but they really just created another place for someone to hide. Her father’s scythe was hanging on the wall near the pantry, so Rose went in and retrieved it, carrying both the tool and the rifle across the property with her. She surveyed the plain on both sides of her as she went; all was quiet and still.

For now.

Slicing down the fledgling wheat felt wrong, like she was destroying her father’s hopes. But she needed to stay alive, needed to keep the children alive. Fewer hiding places meant a better chance of survival for them.

Survival. That was the goal. It had been since she and her father fled Scotland. The instinct had been so ingrained in her that she forgot there was a time when she thought of other things. There had been a time when she and Jay could steal a few moments to run alongside the coast, playing silly games and talking of nonsense. A time when she could be young before her responsibilities returned to her. It all seemed so long ago. Would she ever reach that point again? Would she ever be able to consider what came after survival?

Rose set down the scythe and straightened up, wiping away the sweat beading on her brow. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worked this hard, pushed her body this far. It must have been last year, when she and her father were still erecting the cabin and establishing the property. There were nights when they first settled here that Rose’s muscles ached so acutely, she couldn’t have fallen asleep even if her racing mind had let her. As time wore on, she grew accustomed to the manual labor, and once Kotori had started helping her father, she’d eased off on the outdoor tasks. Perhaps it was good that she was using her muscles again — the west required strength.

The sun had fully risen now, painting the wide western sky in orange and blue. The fortifying tasks she’d set herself had been enough of a distraction that she hadn’t realized how much time was passing. The children were probably awake now, expecting breakfast, and the thought of food reminded her that she, too, was hungry. She picked up the scythe and the rifle and set back towards the house, still keeping an eye on the horizon in each direction. She was watching for unsavory characters, but now she wasn’t as frightened. If someone showed up, she would more prepared than they would.

Inside, Rose peeked her head into the children’s room. They were sitting up, Eva flipping through a book and speaking in Swedish, pointing words out to her brother. When she saw Rose, she jumped up and went into the other room, Jan quick on her heels. Rose fixed a meal of baked beans and the rest of the bread, which was now nearly stale. As she heated the pot on the stove, Rose listened to the children chattering to each other in Swedish.

Rose set the food down on the table, and the children immediately halted in their play and took their seats. Eva bowed her head for a moment before digging in, and the gesture struck Rose. After everything the girl had seen, she still prayed. Rose dipped a crust of bread in the bean sauce and took a bite, watching as Jan, too, bowed his head, albeit for a shorter time than his sister. They were remarkable children, of that Rose was sure.

After eating, the children became antsy; Jan kept racing back and forth across the front room of the cabin, and Eva was prattling on and on in a whiney tone Rose recognized in any language. She caught sight of a piece of fabric on the counter, long-forgotten in the melee of everything that had happened, and an idea came to her. She retrieved the fabric and the rifle and went to the front door, holding it open behind her. Jan didn’t hesitate — as soon as the door was open, he was running out, letting out a yip as he leapt from the porch and tore out onto the grass. Eva followed, standing in the doorway and calling to her brother. He ignored whatever she said and started on a path of large loops across the property.

Rose gestured for Eva to sit down beside her on the wood planks of the porch. The girl did so as Rose laid the fabric in her lap. It was a sad attempt at her first cross-stitch. She’d started it in an effort to bring a homier touch to the cabin, but all it had resulted in so far were pricked fingers and tangles of floss. Rose pulled the needle loose and showed Eva how to dip it in and out of the fabric. When she handed the girl the needle, she started straight away, discovering her own design as she went. Rose was impressed by the girl’s nimble fingers as they danced across the piece of cloth — she had a natural dexterity. She was proving to be better than Rose with no practice at all. Unless her mother had already taught her. The thought made Rose’s heart sink a little. She could try to give them a life here, but she couldn’t hope to replace the children’s parents.

Rose glanced up to see that Jan was still running in wide circles. He had so much energy. She recalled a brief memory of herself and Jay near his age — back when she still had the luxury of being a child. The two of them were constantly chasing each other and jumping from outcroppings and sliding down embankments to the ocean. They were so reckless sometimes, her father had once said they were discovering a thousand ways to die. She and Jay had both liked the sound of that, and a game developed from it. Of course, one of those games had resulted in Jay toppling over a bluff and catching his palm on a jagged rock. It had been the most blood Rose had seen up until the shootout. Jay had always seemed to take pride in that scar on his palm, like it was a badge of his bravery.

 _Silly boy. Silly, brave boy_.

A movement at the edge of Rose’s vision caught her attention, and she stood, rigid as if at attention. There were three figures emerging from the tree line — two riderless horses tethered to one in front with a rider, heading for the cabin at a moderate pace. They were still too far away for Rose to discern any details: whether the stranger was armed, whether there were more people waiting just beyond the cover of the trees. “Jan!” she yelled, not caring that her voice carried across the plain. The boy halted in his play to look at her, and he must have seen the urgency in her face, because he ran to the porch. “Get inside,” she said, steering both children through the door. With the rifle in hand, she cracked the door, peering outside with the gun drawn.

The figure had not sped up or slowed down; the horses continued moving forward at a steady pace. Rose made sure the safety was off and stared down the sight, putting the rider’s chest in the crosshairs. He was getting nearer — one hundred yards, eighty yards, fifty yards, twenty yards — until the sun hit a recognizable glint of ginger hair.

Rose dropped the rifle and burst through the door, nearly leaping from the porch like she would have in her games of old. When Silas saw her, he slowed his horse and dismounted. As she got closer, Rose could see each horse was laden with full saddlebags, several hunting rifles strapped across their rumps. Silas grasped the reigns and, still limping, quickened his pace towards her.

He came into clearer view, and Rose felt her heart start to race. There was a patch of dried blood on the side of his face, his eyes rimmed with red, his shirt torn at the collar and stained with more brown blood. All at once, words were tumbling out. “Are you all right?” And because she was so relieved to see him, because she was still on edge, because he was clearly hurt, she couldn’t stop the flow of questions. “What happened to you? Where did you go? What took so long? Did someone find you? Are you going to —?”

Silas was inches away. “Shh,” he said, dropping the reigns and throwing an arm around her waist. In an instant, he pulled her to him, arms encircling her and his head dropping against her neck. There was no space between them, and yet they couldn’t get close enough. A warmth spread through her limbs, the tension easing from her muscles. As much as she’d tried to put thoughts of him from her mind during the past few hours, he was always there in the back of her mind. She’d wanted him to come back in one piece so she could hold him, prove to herself that he was real. Prove to him how she felt.

They pulled apart, freeing up a few inches between themselves. Then Silas’s mouth quirked into a crooked grin. Rose’s eyes shot to the blood on his face.

“There’s blood on you,” she said.

“There’s blood on you, too,” he said, reaching up and wiping her cheek where he’d brushed against her.

There was nothing for Rose to do but laugh, a small giggle that bubbled into a louder, longer laugh when Silas chuckled along. She took his hand; he had rough callouses that rivaled her own. “Come on,” she said, starting back towards the house.


	10. Whiskey

**Silas**

He savored the feel of her touch as she held his chin in place and dabbed at his temple with a wet cloth. It was quite possibly the best thing he’d ever felt. The feel of her touch and the way she kept looking up at him, standing so close he could see the flecks of green in her eyes — he could sit here forever. Silas let his eyes drift closed.

When he’d felt the laughing bounty hunter’s struggles grow weaker and weaker until they stopped entirely, Silas’s first thought was of getting back to Rose. He needed to see her again — he _would_ see her again. But with night approaching, his injury, and the prospect of the long journey back, Silas forced himself to make camp at the tiny cabin, all the while itching to return. And the look of radiant joy on Rose’s face when she’d seen him was enough to make him never want to part from her again.

He opened his eyes now to see her staring at him, her eyebrows raised. She’d said something, but he was too engrossed in the memory to realize it. He cleared his throat. “What?”

“I said, ‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’” She pulled the cloth away from his head, her eyes wide with concern. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at him like that — maybe no one ever had.

“I went to a hunting cabin I saw in the forest a while back,” he said. “It was neglected, but I knew there were some guns left. I was ambushed by three men. They took me hostage — suppose they thought I was a fugitive — but then one of the men killed the other two.” Rose frowned at this. “It didn’t make sense. I knew he couldn’t be reasoned with. So I had to —” He stopped. She understood. She didn’t ask him anything else; she just leaned forward and ran a hand through his hair, taking care to avoid his new wound. Then her eyes met his, and, like she had been doing it for years, she pressed a light kiss to his cheek, her lips just barely grazing his skin. She pulled away, smiling. It was a glorious sight, her smile; Silas wanted to be responsible for it.

“Apply pressure,” Rose said, pressing the cloth into his hands. He touched it to his head and watched as Rose left the cabin. A few minutes passed during which Silas felt nothing but the pulse in his head and a warm contentment that surged through his veins faster than any liquor. When Rose returned, her arms were laden with the heavy saddlebags he’d taken off the bounty hunter as well as the rifles. He stood and helped her place them on the table.

“I’d have helped you with that,” he said.

“I didn’t need your help,” she said, looking at him, her gaze a challenge.

He nodded. “Of course you didn’t.” And he knew it was the truth. He’d noticed what was left of the wheat field was decimated now, and the chicken wire nailed up over the back door spoke to Rose’s diligence while he’d been gone. She was capable.

Rose opened one of the bags and started pawing through it. In earnest, Silas hadn’t even checked them before he loaded them up. He had other things on his mind. Rose pulled out several cans and jars and stacked them on the table. She rummaged through the other bags, placing the spoils on the table. There were hunks of salt pork, bags of flour and cornmeal, potatoes, a couple of men’s shirts, boxes of bullets, candles, matches, and even a small can of oil. Then she withdrew the five pistols — two from the cabin, three from the dead bounty hunters.

“These were just left there?” she asked, turning over one of the guns in her hand.

Silas grunted. “We’re just lucky no one else got to them first.” The word was out of his mouth before he had the chance to consider what it meant: _we_. If Rose noticed, she didn’t say anything about it. She just continued inspecting the pistol, running her thumb over the mother-of-pearl inlay on the handle, her brow furrowed. “What is it?” he asked.

She shook her head, the disconcerted look vanishing. “Nothing.”

The inner door opened again, the children peering around it. They inched into the room, Eva approaching the table and peeking up over it in curiosity.

“Oh,” Silas said. That reminded him. He patted his pockets until he found them: a corn husk doll, tattered and without features, and a horse made likewise. He’d seen them scattered on the ground as he’d made his way through the forest — evidence of the native tribes that were becoming scarcer and scarcer. He held them out towards the children. Jan grabbed the horse at once, dropping to his knees to bounce the toy along the floor. Eva was more hesitant about the doll, but once she had it in her hands, she nestled it against her and smiled. When he glanced up at Rose, she was looking at him and wearing a slight smile somewhere between admiration and awe. “What?” he asked.

“You —” She stopped herself, sighed, and smiled. “That was wonderful of you.”

He shrugged one shoulder. Truthfully, it wasn’t enough, but if it made Rose look at him like that — like he’d achieved something astonishing — he would take it.

Rose started sorting through the provisions on the table, putting like items together. She moved one of the saddlebags to the floor, but something inside it clinked as she set it down. Silas watched as she withdrew two bottles of whiskey, one half empty and one nearly full. She scoffed but still examined them anyway. “Could be useful,” said Silas, recalling the whiskey she’d used to treat him.

Rose nodded and placed the bottles on the top shelf in the pantry, next to the almost-depleted one. Then she started picking up jars and cans, finding places for them as well. Silas grabbed a few and came to stand beside her, handing them over to her once her hands were empty. They went on like that until the pantry was replenished. It eased the knot in Silas’s chest slightly to see that they would be well-fed.

He turned his attention back to the firearms on the table. He had no idea what kind of condition they were in, so he settled himself down in the chair and inspected them. It looked like someone had taken care of them, though the hunting rifles showed a bit more wear than the pistols, and he had no way of knowing how long they’d sat unused. He checked to see that the first rifle was unloaded — it was — and started to take it apart when he glanced up to see Rose inching closer, watching his movements intently.

“Can you show me?” she asked.

Silas grabbed the nearest chair and slid it over next to his. Rose sank into it, and he placed the butt of the gun in her lap. “Hold that,” he instructed, and she did, providing him enough leverage to remove the bolt. With the gun partially disassembled, he pointed out the areas that were caked with dirt and residue. “This needs cleaned,” he said. Rose pointed to a cupboard below the pantry.

“Da kept his things in there,” she said. Silas got up and knelt in front of it, finding a brush, a rag, and some solvent. He wet the rag with the liquid and then handed it to Rose. Taking her hand, he guided it to the most corroded areas, demonstrating the proper technique. She caught on quickly, starting in on a new spot. As she worked, Silas began taking apart the other rifle, finding it in even worse condition than the first. Rose looked over and saw it, her eyes widening. “More practice for me,” she said.

Silas was nothing if not meticulous when it came to gun maintenance. A dirty gun was a potential danger or a potential failure, and neither of them would serve him. Especially not now. He spoke up when Rose applied the brush too hard, showed her a more efficient way to unload the pistol, and found any excuse he could to speak up and impart what he’d learned through years of rigorous attention. She was an attentive student.

“Once, I nearly shot my brother with a shotgun,” he said, peering up to see her reaction. He didn’t know why he told her; the memory had just come to mind and the words were out of his mouth before he could think about it. That happened more and more often around Rose. He said things he might not have said otherwise.

Her jaw dropped. “You didn’t.”

“We were both out hunting and I was fooling around,” he said. “I must have been ten, eleven. Thought it would be smarter if I kept my finger on the trigger, ready if I saw anything. I saw something move, shot — and then my brother started swearing a blue streak. Said I just barely missed him, and if I did it again, I’d better finish him off, for my sake.” Rose giggled.

“Is that what made you so careful?” she asked.

He grunted. That, and Payne — years of training had been beaten into him: clean it, oil it. But he wasn’t going to talk about him to her. Silas wouldn’t mention the man who had tried to kill her and destroy her home, wouldn’t even think of him. “I’m just lucky,” he said, and it was the most truth he’d ever spoken. He was, in many more ways than one.

An hour must have passed as Silas instructed Rose on the finer points of gun maintenance and they worked their way through each weapon, restoring it to its optimal condition. Eva and Jan played on the floor behind them and ran back and forth from room to room, occasionally swapping toys and chattering in rapid Swedish. Every once in a while, Eva interjected the word “water,” and Rose’s face lit up every time.

She got up from the table and turned toward the pantry when she glanced down at her hands — they were blackened from gunpowder residue and dirt. She wiped them on her pants, but Silas knew it would do no good. They both needed to scrub their hands. He picked up one of the newly shiny pistols, loaded it and tucked it into his belt as he stood. “Come here,” he said, taking gentle hold of her elbow and leading her outside. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the children, but she must have convinced herself they would be all right.

Down at the well, Silas raised up a bucket and took Rose’s wrist, dipping it in and rubbing her hand between his. Slowly, he ran his thumb across the back of her hand, then flipped it over to lightly touch her palm. Her eyes met his, searching. He realized he was breathing very fast, so he averted his eyes back to her hand. Satisfied that it was clean, he started to let go, but Rose tightened her grasp, holding on.

“Thank you,” she said, quiet.

“For what?”

“For coming back.”

 

* * *

 

They feasted that evening on beans, pork, pickles, and cabbage. At first, Silas thought it was unwise to eat so much at once, but when the smells started emanating from the cook stove, he realized how hungry he was and accepted that the others must have felt the same way. Watching Eva and Jan gobble up as much as they could and seeing Rose eat more than a few spoonfuls of something was worth it. There were candles lit on the table and the clink of silverware mixed with the sound of low voices and children’s giggles. Silas caught Rose’s eye across the table; she was smiling again. It was beautiful.

With their bellies full, the children were more lively, yet somehow, Rose persuaded them to help with the washing up. They seemed to like the task — particularly Jan, who had his arms in the water up to his elbows and was grinning from ear to ear as his sister passed him dishes. Silas didn’t see how Rose did it. The children seemed to understand her; they didn’t speak the same language, but they seemed to share the same thoughts.

When the dishes were clean and set out on the table to dry, Rose corralled the children into the bedroom. Silas stood near the door and inclined his head, listening. There were more giggles, some soft shushing, and then silence. No crying tonight. No need for songs. Rose came out a few moments later.

“They’re all right?” Silas asked. She nodded and went to the pantry, reaching up to the top shelf and grabbing the two new bottles of whiskey. She proffered one to Silas. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to take it and drink, but he paused. “Someone needs to stay alert,” he said, “in case —” He didn’t need to say. She knew.

“Just one drink,” she said, still holding the bottle out to him.

She was so earnest. He reached out and took the bottle from her. “Just one,” he said. He took a swig; the liquor warmed a track down his throat.

Rose took a drink from her own bottle, pursing her lips as she swallowed. He could see the disguised disgust on her features. “Worse than what you’re used to?” Silas asked.

“Much,” she said. The stuff she’d brought from Scotland must have been pretty damn good. Rose took another swig, and this time, she screwed up her face less. She crossed to the front door, glancing over her shoulder as she opened it and went out into the night. Adjusting the pistol on his belt, Silas followed her.

It was an inky black night, a cool wind blowing across the plain. Rose sat down on the edge of the porch and Silas lowered himself down beside her. The pain in his leg was abating, but it was still stiff and uncomfortable. He plucked a cigar from his pocket and lit it up. Looking out across the plain, they could see the stars in the clear sky. Silas remembered Jay pointing out constellations, but he himself had never been able to see the shapes.

Like she knew what he was thinking, Rose pointed up at a cluster of bright stars. “That’s the Great Bear,” she said. Silas followed her finger, but all he saw was an unorganized splattering of stars. “See it?”

He hesitated. “No,” he said at last.

“Me neither.” She chuckled. “Jay always could. Always showed me.”

Rose took a quick draught from the bottle before holding it out to Silas. He shot a glance along the property, but all appeared to be still. It couldn’t hurt. He took it from her and withdrew the cigar for a moment to swallow another gulp.

Then they were quiet for a few moments. Another gust of wind hit them, and Rose folded her arms, hugging herself. Then she turned to look at him, her features outlined in silver from the starlight. “We’ll be all right here,” she said after a while, “won’t we?”

He didn’t want to promise her something that might not be true, not again, but he had an unfamiliar feeling that they might be. It was a feeling of optimism — not something he’d felt for a very long time. “I think so,” he said.

They lapsed into silence again. Rose looked away, holding herself tighter. “I knew Jay was in love with me,” she said. “He practically told me as much. But I never felt that way for him. I loved him, sure, but not the way he wanted.” Silas didn’t know what to say, so he stayed silent. “I never thought I’d see him again,” she said, and he knew that even though she was sitting beside him, she was miles away, lost in her mind. “And then when I did, it was too late. But he saved me. I just — I wish I could have given him something in return.” Rose looked back to him. “He meant something to you, too, didn’t he?”

“Sure.” Sometimes the kid was a pain in his ass, but he’d had his moments, too.

“He saw things differently.”

“He did.”

A harder wind ruffled Rose’s hair. Silas thought about it for a second, and then slung his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him. After a moment, her head nestled against his neck. “How do you know?” she asked out of the blue.

“What’s that?” He inclined his head towards her.

“Love,” she said. “How do you know it?”

Silas swallowed. “I wish I knew.”

Her breathing grew slower and deeper after that, her body heavier against his. Silas was aware of the silence between them, and suddenly, he wanted to speak. He wanted to tell her that he was starting to understand why Jay had been in love with her, that he wished he had kissed her, that he could think only of her. That of all the things he’d done in his life, staying with her was the one he hadn’t regretted. That she was strong and brave and soft and wise and full of heart and didn’t need him or anyone. That maybe, he was starting to see that he needed her.

She was so still beside him. “Rose?”

But she remained quiet. He looked over to see her face; she was asleep, dark lashes splayed against rosy cheeks. He slipped his other arm under her legs and stood up, his leg straining as he carried her inside. He set her down on the bed — slowly, careful not to jostle her — arranged the quilt over her, and settled down at his spot at the table, blowing out the candles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> I am also taking requests over at [ask-learningthetrees.tumblr.com](http://www.ask-learningthetrees.tumblr.com)


	11. Standoff

**Rose**

Morning had come and nearly gone by the time Rose awoke. She was warm, head nestled below the quilt, and she could smell coffee wafting through the air, but it was silent in the cabin. She lifted her head to see the front door propped open, every corner of the room bathed in light. The kettle sat on the stove, an empty cup on the table. Rose sat up, trying to remember when she’d come to bed. The last thing she recalled was sitting on the porch next to Silas, melting against him, staring at the stars as her heavy eyelids drifted shut. She remembered feeling tired and warm and — for the first time in a long time — happy.

Rose climbed out of bed and reminded herself to retrieve a pistol from the shelf. She tucked it into her belt as she went to the open door. The bright sky was clear, stretching from one side of the plain to the other without a cloud in sight. Rose was still getting used to how open it was here. She saw Silas over at the hitching post, brushing down one of the newly acquired horses, a black mare. Jan sat on the ground behind him, engrossed in his own toy horse, but Eva had come up beside him and placed her hand on the horse’s leg. Silas crouched down and handed her a brush. Then he looked over and saw Rose on the porch. He nodded. Rose smiled.

She walked down towards them, and Silas straightened up as she approached. “G’morning,” he said. He was wearing the same trousers and suspenders as always, but had on a new shirt, forest green. There was a pinkish cast to his face, and Rose wondered how long he’d been out in the sun already.

She smiled. “Morning.”

Eva looked up at her and gestured to the animal beside her. “Horse!” she said, wearing a proud grin. Rose looked at Silas, eyebrows raised.

“She told me the word in Swedish,” Silas said. He rubbed his chin. “It’s — it’s, uh, _hass_ — _hat_ —”

“ _H_ _äst_ ,” said Jan, without looking up from his toy. Rose chuckled.

“You should have woken me,” she said. Silas shrugged and returned to brushing the horse.

Jan jumped up and held out his toy to Rose. “Thank you,” she said with a snicker, but Jan took her hand and moved the horse through the air, showing her how to play with it. When he was pleased that she was enjoying herself, Jan went over to his sister, who was now brushing the second horse, a buckskin gelding that was contentedly grazing. He picked up Eva’s cornhusk doll from the ground next to her and brought it back to Rose. She sat the doll on the toy horse’s back, and Jan reached out for them. “Horse,” he said.

“That’s good,” Rose said as she handed the dolls to him. Jan sat on the grass beside her, and she plucked a dandelion and stuck it behind the boy’s ear. He only let it stay there for a moment before he pulled it out, inspected it, and then stood up to tuck it behind Rose’s ear. She laughed. “Why, thank you,” she said. Suddenly bored of Rose’s entertainment, Jan stood, carrying the two toys with him, and headed back towards the cabin. Rose watched him go, stifling a chuckle as he put down the dolls to pull himself up onto the porch with both hands. Eva, not one to be left out, caught sight of her brother leaving and dropped the brush, calling after him as she gave chase towards the house.

A whinny caught Rose’s attention, and she turned to see Silas kneeling to examine the bottoms of the third horse’s shoes. She was a dark bay mare and the smallest of the three, but she appeared to make up for her size in spirit. She tossed her foot and reared, making it as hard for Silas as she could.

Rose stood, taking a few slow steps towards the horse. She reached out, her hand in plain view of the animal. The horse blinked, and neither of them moved for a few long moments. Then Rose reached forward and touched the animal’s nose ever so lightly, hoping to steady her. The horse tossed her head, snorting and chomping her teeth. Rose drew her hand back. “I’m not sure she likes me,” she said.

“Not sure she likes anyone,” said Silas.

“Have you tried riding her?” Rose asked.

Silas shook his head. “She wouldn’t stay still.”

Rose took stock of the horse. They’d once had a pony back in Scotland like this — a bit wild, but nothing a firm hand couldn’t solve. In one swift motion, Rose grasped a handful of the animal’s mane and hoisted herself up on her back before she knew what was happening. The horse whinnied and started to rear up, but Rose tugged lightly on her mane. “Easy!” she said. The horse threw her head back once and huffed, but didn’t try to buck again. When Rose tapped her with her heels, the horse trotted forward. “Whoa,” Rose said, tugging again, and the horse came to a stop. She turned the horse left and then right, and then drew her to a halt. Seeing that the horse was compliant, Rose smirked as an idea took hold.

Then she dug in her heels, leaning forward over the mare’s neck. The horse took heed and danced from a standstill to a canter to a gallop. Heading out into the plain, the cool wind whipping at her hair, Rose felt a smile spread across her lips. It was the closest thing to flying she would ever feel — the closest she could get to true freedom. Beneath her, she felt the mare’s muscles expand and contract, and Rose got the feeling the horse had the same exhilarating sense of liberty she did.

After she made a large loop across the property, Rose turned the horse back toward the hitching post, slowing her to a trot. Silas stepped forward. Once the horse was still, Rose started to dismount and felt Silas’s hands on either side of her waist, guiding her down from the horse’s back.

She turned to face him. “Nice work,” he said, looking down at her, an impressed grin on his lips. His hands were still on her waist.

“It was nothing,” she said.

Silas raised his eyebrows. “It was something.” Rose looked up, realizing how close he was. “You could have been hurt.” His eyes were fixed on hers, so dark blue they nearly looked black.

“You just have to know how to connect with her,” said Rose. Her heart, betraying her, started to race.

“Never been the best at that.” Silas’s eyes flicked to her lips.

“You should try.” Rose felt herself inch forward, willing the gap between them to close, wanting nothing more than to —

And then there was the sound of a whistle, loud and high and drawn out. Silas let go of her and turned, slowly pivoting to face the figure behind him. Just beyond Silas, Rose could see the lanky outline of a familiar personage — someone she’d all but forgotten about.

The young man in the ten-gallon hat.

Cold fear spread through Rose’s body, starting in the pit of her stomach and radiating through her limbs. She had pushed his appearance from her mind, convincing herself he’d just stumbled upon her with no agenda. Of course he hadn’t. How stupid could she be? There was $2,000 at stake, and now he’d come back to claim it.

“Hey there, Girlie,” the man said, peering around Silas and pulling back his lips in a sneer. “Am I glad to see you.” Rose saw Silas’s carriage stiffen. “How you been?” Rose bit the inside of her cheek, and the man gave her a grin that made her skin crawl. He tipped his hat back on his head.

“You know how I’ve been doin’ since we last met?” he asked. “Not great, Girlie. Not great. I was supposed to meet up with a coupla…associates. We had a place all set up and everything. But when I got there, what do you think I found?” Silas and Rose said nothing. “They were all dead! How about that? Three dead bodies, lyin’ around in the woods, bleedin’ and stinkin’.” Rose glanced at Silas’s back. The men he’d come across in the forest?

The man in the hat continued. “Not a good day, I’ll tell you that much. There I was, out in the middle of nowhere, alone. Didn’t know what to do, so I just kept on goin’. Hit a little trading post not far from here, and you’ll never guess what I saw.” He pointed at Rose. “ _Your_ face, Girlie. I’da recognized it anywhere. You’ve got an awful nice wanted poster, Miss Rose Ross.” He chuckled. “Boy, when I saw that, I felt like my luck turned around a little bit. You’re quite a catch, you know that?” He withdrew his pistol. “So it’s a good thing I caught you.” He held the Colt at hip level, pointing it at Silas. “Hands up.” Silas slowly obeyed. The man nodded. “Good.” Then his eyes shot to Rose. “Now you.”

Before she had a chance to think about the consequences, Rose grabbed her own pistol from her belt, cocking it and pointing it at the man. “Still brave,” the man said, a note of admiration in his voice. Then he cocked the Colt, still aimed at Silas. “Still stupid. I’ll shoot him, Girlie. Don’t think I won’t.”

Cold fingers of dread twisted in her gut. “Rose, put the gun down,” Silas said over his shoulder.

She was a good shot, but she wasn’t sure she’d be fast enough. She couldn’t risk it. Rose crouched down, placed the gun on the ground in front of her, and stood, raising her hands as she did. The man in the hat stooped and gathered the gun so that he now had one in each hand — one trained on each of them.

Rose wished she could see Silas’s face, to try to figure out what he was thinking. Did he see a way out of this? Rose wanted to find a solution, but her mind couldn’t get past the gun pointed at her. Is this how it would end? All because they’d let their guards down for a brief moment? After all their planning and preparation, they would still be beaten by a man in a foolish hat. No, not they — just Rose. He was here for her.

And now Silas was between them.

“I gotta say,” said the man in the hat, “you sure are a surprise. For $2,000, I thought you’d be tougher, scarier. But you’re just a little slip of a thing. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you wasn’t capable of murder.”

Rose bit her cheek, tasting blood. The man turned his attention from Rose to Silas. “As for you…well, you’re aidin’ and abettin’ a fugitive. I’m sure that’s a punishable crime.” The man sneered again. “Might be worth something.” He sucked in his cheeks. “I think I’ll shoot you first, make the girl watch, and then get a nice, fat reward.” The man chuckled. “This is turnin’ out to be a pretty fine day after all.”

“You don’t have to shoot him,” said Rose, but the man scoffed.

“I don’t have to, but I’m gonna,” he said. “You find a way to make money doin’ what you love, you keep on doin’ it.”

“You have me,” said Rose. “I’m the one you want. Leave him out of it.”

“Rose,” said Silas, his voice a gravelly warning.

“No, no, no,” the man in the hat said. “Let the girl talk. Sounds like she’s pretty concerned about you.” The man took a step closer to Silas, lowering his voice. “Didn’t you ever wonder what she’d do for you?” The man’s eyes widened. “Let’s find out right now.” He sniggered. “What’ll it be, Girlie? What’s the price for hombre’s life here?”

“Rose,” said Silas again. Why did he keep saying her name like that? What did he think it would do? She glanced at him and watched as he raised his hands a few inches higher. His shirt lifted, and Rose could see his sheathed knife tucked in the back of his pants. She let out a breath and shot a quick look at the man in the hat, trying to keep the relief from showing on her face.

_Think, think_. “I’ll do whatever you say,” she said.

The man smirked, cocking his head to the side as he thought. “Better make this good, then,” he said. Rose shifted her weight forward, leaning imperceptibly towards Silas. “You sure are a pretty one, aren’t you?” he said to Rose. “What are you doing with this sumbitch?” He jerked his head towards Silas.

Rose lowered her hands slowly. “Just let him go,” she said, touching her wrists together and holding them out towards the man in the hat, proffering herself up to him. “Please. Just let him go. Let him… _GO_!”

As she cried out, she lunged forward, slipping the knife from its sheath as Silas ducked. The man fired his pistol, the bullet shooting just past Rose. She took aim, focusing all her energy on hitting the right spot, and let the knife fly. It whirled through the air, made one full rotation, and struck the man’s left shoulder, burying itself to the hilt in his flesh. He screamed out, dropping both pistols as he collapsed to his knees, grasping the knife with his right hand. Rose bounded forward, grabbed the mother-of-pearl handle, and aimed it at the man’s head. His eyes grew wide when he looked up and found himself staring down the barrel of his own gun.

“D — don’t —” he said, spluttering, but Rose didn’t let him say anymore. She pulled the trigger, the bullet striking him between the eyes. He fell backward and didn’t move again, a thin trail of blood sliding down his face.

Rose drew a deep breath and then another and then another. She tore her eyes away from the dead man and waited for the panic to rise in her chest, but it didn’t. The man who had threatened her was dead, and by her own hand, too. She had done it. She was still alive. Rose turned to see Silas still on the ground, his chest, too, rising and falling heavily. For a moment, neither of them moved, each relishing the feel of breath in their lungs.

Without looking away from her, Silas pulled himself to his feet and hobbled the distance between them, reaching out. Hands on her jaw, he tilted her face up toward him, his lips crashing against hers. His kiss was frenzied, hard, impassioned, and Rose’s hands slipped up his back, grasping at his shirt and pulling him even closer. His stubble scratched against her cheeks, just as hard yet soft as his lips. She didn’t ever want to pull away, didn’t want to breathe in anything that wasn’t him. When they broke for air, Silas ducked his head so that he rested his forehead against her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

She ran her fingers through his hair. “Fine,” she said, but her voice shook when she said it.

Then Silas was kissing her again, and she forgot everything else.


	12. Winter

**Silas**

“You had to do it.”

“I know.”

“You had to.”

“Silas. I know.”

They stood, arms crossed, in front of the makeshift pyre. Flames licked the shroud covering the departed, smoke catching the wind and billowing in a dark column across the plain. The scent of burning flesh was acrid. Silas glanced over at Rose; she was still and steady, her eyes dry. He thought she’d find it difficult, looking on the person she’d killed, but after ensuring the children were all right, after they’d both caught their breath and as the sun dipped in the sky, she’d insisted she should help him take care of the body.

“This wasn’t like Jay,” Rose said. She wasn’t looking at Silas, but she wasn’t looking at the fire either — she was following the wisps of smoke, staring up at the purple sky. “He was going to kill you. He was going to kill _me_.” And then she turned to look at Silas, her eyes dark. “I’m not sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he said. “Men like that —” He jerked his chin towards the dead man, “they have no honor. They’ll do anything if there’s a dollar in it for them. Disregard all humanity if it means they get paid.”

They were silent for a moment, each of them looking down at the pyre. The sight brought Silas back to the first time he’d seen someone dispatched so. He must have been seventeen or eighteen, freshly inaugurated into Payne’s gang, when they’d been set upon by a rival group. A dirty, drag-down duel left the leader dead. The surviving members of his group defected to Payne’s, and then they’d sent the dead man to a fiery grave. That day marked the first time Silas realized the new rules of the west: Every man was for himself, and there was no such thing as loyalty anymore.

“Silas.” Rose’s voice was a murmur against the wind.

“Hmm?”

“You were one of them, weren’t you?”

An icy stillness struck Silas, his breath catching in his throat. “One of what?”

“A bounty hunter. An outlaw.” Of course Rose knew. She was miles more astute than Jay; she must have known from the very beginning.

He turned towards her. “Rose, I —”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “When I first saw you, you said you were a friend. You were coming to help us. And you did. You’re not like them.”

Another silence. Then, a thought came to Silas, and he chuckled. “You saved my life twice now,” he said. “That’s quite a debt.” He smirked, but when she glanced at him, there was no humor in her eyes.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said.

“No?”

“But I — I wanted to ask something.” Silas waited for her to compose her thoughts. “Will you stay?”

His brow creased. “I told you —”

“You said you would stay until I was safe,” Rose said, recalling his words.

“And you are,” he said.

“I am,” she said, “and the children are. But it’s not enough. I —” She swallowed and looked down. “I want you to stay.”

The firelight flickered against her face in the deepening dusk. “Rose,” he said, his voice gruff. She glanced up, her eyes speaking to her uncertainty. “I won’t go.”

She closed the space between them, her arms around his neck and her lips meeting his. The suddenness was like the first time she’d kissed him, but this time, he reacted. He grasped her waist, deepening the kiss, and he’d never felt anything so wonderful. He didn’t deserve this — any of it — but he would try to make himself worthy.

Rose broke away, just enough to glance up at him. “Is that a promise?”

“That’s a promise.”

It was a while before they went inside.

 

* * *

 

Rose was fast asleep beside him, her back pressed against his under the quilt. Every time she’d stirred in the night, Silas had awoken. He was used to staying vigilant during the night, attuned to any sound that might spell danger, but this was different. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept so close to someone. When he’d first been jostled, he gasped, trying to ascertain where he was, trying to convince himself that the events of the previous day hadn’t been a dream. Then he heard Rose’s steady breathing and glanced over to see how the hard planes of her face had softened under the cover of sleep. Both of them had dropped off almost as soon as they’d lain down, the rush of energy that came from nearly dying having worn off.

It had been a chaste night, and Silas was surprised by how little he minded.  _You haven't bedded her, have you_ _?_  He could be such an ass sometimes.

From a purely pragmatic standpoint, sharing the bed kept them warm. Silas’s breath steamed in front of him, even though he’d made sure the fire was built up in the stove. Without Rose beside him to keep him warm, Silas was sure his toes would have started turning blue.

Rose stirred again, letting out a soft sigh. Silas rolled onto his back and looked over at her; she was rubbing her eyes, and when she pulled her hands away, she jumped, like she’d forgotten he was there. “Good morning,” she said with a soft smile.

“It is,” he said. Then he laughed slightly, because he had never dreamed he would find himself here, warm in bed next to this bold, beautiful woman. Rose drew the quilt up to her chin.

“Back in Scotland, we used to put coals from the fire under the quilt during the winter,” she said. “I used to complain that it made my feet too hot.” She snickered.

“Do you miss it?” Silas asked. “Scotland?”

Rose stared up at the ceiling for a moment before she answered. “I miss the smell of the sea,” she said, “and the sound of the waves. It was comforting to hear it all the time. Here, it’s always so quiet.” Her eyes met his. “Do you miss Ireland?”

He jerked his head side to side. “All I remember is being hungry and miserable,” he said. His scant memories from that time were only of a crowded cottage and a rumbling stomach and the deaths of so many in his family. “And then I was hungry and miserable in Canada.”

Rose rolled onto her side to face him. “How did you end up here?”

Silas rubbed his jaw, thinking back. Those were days he’d tried to forget. “My mother died,” he said. “We had nothing — by then it was just my brother and sister and me. My brother found work, my sister found a husband, and I fended for myself.”

The hurt was clear on Rose’s face. “They wouldn’t take you in?”

Silas shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t hold it against them. They wanted to start new lives. I started riding south, into the States. Where I could, I hopped on trains.”

“How old were you?”

Silas thought, counting the years. “Fifteen?” He’d grown up fast, not unlike Rose. Not unlike the children asleep in the next room. “I did a lot I’m not proud of — had to steal, cheat.” He didn’t even have the luxury at that point of taking money. It had been food he was after. “It was easier just not to think about it. Not to feel anything.”

“Where were you going?” Rose asked.

Silas shook his head. “Nowhere,” he said. “Anywhere. Drifting.” In that way, not much had changed for most of his life. “I ran afoul of a group of men. It was stupid. _I_ was stupid — I thought I could take them.”

“But you couldn’t.”

Silas smirked at the memory of the dumb kid he’d once been. “I got taken down a few pegs. Got in a fistfight with one of them — thought I was done for. But the guy in charge saw something in me and told me if I listened to him, did what he said, I’d stay alive. So I changed — to stay alive. And that was…” Silas sighed. “…twenty years ago.”

Rose reached over and brushed her hand lightly across his cheek. “That’s not who you are anymore.”

She was so sure. He thought back to all that had happened to him recently — helping Jay, staying with Rose. These weren’t things the Silas of the past would have done. He would have dulled down any pang of sympathy and moved on without a second thought. The guilt might have returned in dreams, but he would never had admitted it.

But Rose was right; something was different now. At some point, some feeling had awoken. Maybe it happened when Jay shot the orphans’ mother. Maybe it was when he stepped outside to see the children standing there. Maybe it was when Payne all but begged him to rejoin the gang.

Rose deserved to know about Payne. She knew nearly everything already. “The man who came here,” Silas said suddenly, “the one Jay shot — it was him. He was the one who took me in —”

“Don’t.” Rose’s gaze was firm. “It doesn’t matter.”

And she was right. Everything they’d done and everything that had happened to them couldn’t be changed. They could only move on. He heard Jay’s voice in the back of his mind: _There’s more to life than surviving_. They had survived, but this, here with Rose, was more than that — they were living.

Silas leaned over, his eyes locked on hers. When their lips touched, it was soft and delicate. They pulled apart, and Rose smiled at him — smiled because of him.

He wanted to stay abed with her forever, but he was feeling that pesky call of nature. Silas took a deep breath, steeling himself, and then pushed back the quilt and got out of bed. He pulled on his pants, slipped his feet into his boots, and blew into his cupped hands as he went to the door. He unlatched the door and pulled it open, pausing when he looked up. “Rose,” he said.

She sat up in bed, the contentment gone from her features, replaced by fear. “What?”

Silas grinned. “Come here.” Rose wrapped the quilt around her and came to stand beside him. During the night, a silver frost had settled across the plain, and a light, lazy snow was floating from the white sky with a silence that only ever accompanied snow.

“It’s beautiful,” Rose said, her voice a breath. Silas found himself more entranced by the look on Rose’s face as she watched the snow — unadulterated awe.

After a moment, Rose knelt beside the bed, reaching under it and withdrawing a heavy coat and a couple of blankets. She handed them to Silas without a word. He took them, shouldering the coat, grabbing a pistol, and heading out into the cold. He made water as quickly as he could and then covered each horse with a blanket, leading them closer to the house, hoping to shield them from some of the snow. He continued around the cabin, looking for a stockpile of firewood and finding one beside the back door, but it wasn’t nearly stocked enough. Now that an early snow had come, there was no knowing what the winter would hold. Silas gathered up what he could carry and brought it inside.

Rose was emerging from the bedroom, still wrapped in the quilt, this time with Eva and Jan huddling under it with her. Silas knelt beside the stove, loaded it with wood, and lit it. Rose shrugged off the quilt, leaving it draped over the children’s shoulders, and started heating water. She crossed her arms, hugging herself to ward off the cold, and as Silas rose from the floor, he wrapped his arms around her. He rubbed her arms, glancing down to see her lips twitch into a half-smile.

Once the water was hot, the porridge made, and the children fed, Silas stepped outside. The snow was still falling at the same gentle pace, leaving a thin coat on the ground. Silas grabbed the hatchet stuck into the stump by the back door and set off towards the nearest copse of trees, picking out the limbs most suited for firewood. But after only a few swings, he started to feel a twinge in his right shoulder. He gripped it, grimacing. Once, he would have been able to do this himself.

But now he didn’t have to. Silas carried the limbs he’d been able to chop up back to the cabin. Inside, Rose and the children were sitting on the floor by the stove. Eva was poking a needle into a bit of fabric while her brother and Rose played with the cornhusk dolls. When Silas deposited the wood in the corner of the cabin, he met Rose’s eyes across the room. He rolled his shoulder, trying to abate the stiffness. Rose understood, rising and crossing to him, holding out her hand. He handed her the hatchet. 

Trading off the hatchet every few logs, they made short work of the copse, hauling back the firewood in several trips. “That’s enough for a few days, at least,” said Silas as they looked on their handiwork, a towering pile of wood.

And as the day wore on, one them stoked the fire every few hours, keeping it burning until the whole cabin was heavy with warmth. Rose was baking, and the scent reminded Silas of something he might have smelled in his family’s kitchen back in Ireland. Eva and Jan helped her wherever they could and when they weren’t running to the door to check the progress of the snow.

By midafternoon, it stopped falling, leaving behind a few inches of fresh powder. The bare trees were laden with it, the whole plain covered in white. If Rose’s rapt expression at seeing the snow was beautiful, it was nothing compared to the joy on the faces of the children. Silas could tell they were aching to run out into it, to leave their small footprints across the unbroken surface. He rummaged around for some more clothes, attiring them in a few layers of shirts and jackets that were several sizes too big for them. Judging by their beaming smiles, they didn’t mind.

Once they were outside, Eva and Jan took off. Jan promptly tripped, falling facedown in the snow. Silas chuckled to himself and hoisted the boy up. His sister snickered at him, so Jan lunged at her. The sounds of their childish glee filled the plain. Silas glanced over his shoulder to see Rose standing on the porch, a wistful smile on her lips. He bent down and packed some snow into a ball, then he let it sail towards her. It struck her in the leg, and she jumped backwards, her mouth wide with surprise. Then she sneered at Silas. “You —”

She tromped down from the porch, gathered up a handful of snow, and trudged over to him, smashing it down on his head. He cried out, half laughing, as the cold trickled down his neck, and he caught Rose around the waist, pulling her to him. “There’s more where that came from,” Rose said.

“Oh yeah?”

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her lips. An airy giggle floated through the air, and Rose pulled away, her cheeks growing red. Silas turned to see the children staring. Eva had a hand pressed to her mouth, stifling her laughter, and Jan looked utterly confused. Silas grinned, putting a hand behind Rose’s head and steering it back towards his. If they were going to embarrass themselves, they might as well do it properly. He kissed her hard, slipping his tongue between her lips and earning another squeal from one of the children. Rose laughed into his kiss.

Eva and Jan wore themselves out running, jumping, and sliding in the snow. Silas tried to keep up with them, but he was not as young as he'd once been. That much was clear. By the time they went inside and sat down for supper, Eva’s head was drooping towards her chest as she spooned baked potato into her mouth. Jan had already set down his spoon and laid his head against the table. “I should put him to bed,” Rose said, but Silas stood up.

“I’ll do it,” he said. Carefully, he gathered the boy up into his arms and carried him into the inner room. A fire was burning in the smaller stove in the corner, and when Silas settled the boy onto the bed and tucked him under the covers, he did not wake. Eva followed, crawling into the bed.

“Good night,” he said as he started to leave the room.

“G’nigh,” Eva said in a close mimicry of what he’d said.

Rose was putting a thick log on the fire, one that would probably last the rest of the night. Silas sat on the bed, rubbing his shoulder and rolling his neck from side to side. Rose straightened up and looked over at him. “Is it still hurting you?” she asked.

He shrugged. It was a combination of the injury and the strenuous activity. Rose turned down the lamp on the table before she crossed the room and sat beside him on the bed. She turned him so he faced away from her and then he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “May I?” she asked.

“Sure.” Rose squeezed his shoulder, applying just enough pressure to alleviate some of the ache. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh as she worked the sore muscle. "Don't stop." Rose chuckled. Then her hands slipped down his back, pulling down his suspenders. Her hand hovered at the hem of his shirt.

“May I?” she asked again, her voice low.

“Mmhmm.”

She tugged his shirt up over his shoulders, and he helped her, pulling it the rest of the way over his head. He felt her lips on the nape of his neck as she traced kisses up to his jaw. He muttered her name when she hit a sensitive spot, sending shivers down his spine. 

He was alive, and nothing else existed to him but her.

Silas turned towards her, holding her face and kissing her — hungrily, relentlessly. Without taking her lips from his, Rose leaned back against the bed, pulling him down so he hovered over her. They broke apart, breath mingling between them. “Rose —”

“Yes.” Her eyes were clear, her cheeks flushed. “Please.” She kissed him again, and he obliged.


	13. Truth

**Rose**

There was no other way to say it: Rose felt utterly at peace.

When she and her father had first left Scotland, Rose didn’t think she would ever be able to feel anything other than paranoia, a deep-seated gnawing in her gut at all times. Once they’d constructed the cabin and settled the land, Rose thought she would never trust again beyond her father. Then, when she’d lost her father and the others, Rose thought she would never be able to think of anything but them and the way she’d failed them.

And now, despite everything, a warm hope was starting to appear again. It was small — just a tiny spark — but it was there. Every once in a while, she was faced with the memory of those she’d lost, but she no longer blamed herself so harshly. Every day she woke up and looked over at Silas next to her, she reminded herself to be thankful that she was alive. Thankful that she had him.

It might have been a week since everything had happened. Rose had stopped measuring the days by light and darkness, wakefulness and sleep. Instead, she marked the passage of time by firewood gathered, words of English imparted to Eva and Jan, moments stolen in the dark with Silas. It was no trouble at all to convince herself that nothing else existed outside of the small cabin.

That morning, Silas trailed sloppy kisses across the flat plane of her stomach. His growing stubble tickled, and she let out a gasping laugh. “Silas!” She grasped his hair and pulled his head away from her skin. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire. “We have to get up,” she said.

“Do we?” And his lips were on her skin again. She didn’t want him to stop, but it had been getting colder each day, and that meant they needed to prepare for what was sure to be a long, frigid winter. She wriggled out from under him and pulled on her nightgown before braving the cold. Silas stayed in bed, and she could feel his eyes on her as she went to the stove. “Rose,” he said, and she turned.

“What?”

He was surveying her with the most serious gaze she had ever seen on him — save, perhaps, for when he’d seen Jay was dead. He licked his lips, readying himself to say something, and then he shook his head. “Nothing.”

It was strange, but Rose brushed it off and went into the children’s room. They were still asleep, Jan nestled against Eva’s shoulder. Rose perched on the edge of the bed and ruffled his hair lightly. “Good morning,” she said, a lilt to her voice. Jan’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled as he stretched. Then Rose rubbed Eva’s shoulder until the girl woke as well.

“Hello!” Eva said. It had been her favorite word for the past day or so; she worked it into everything she did. Rose tried to teach her to say “goodbye,” but Eva didn’t pick up on it — or perhaps she didn’t want to. Rose knew the girl was smart. Maybe she’d just said enough goodbyes. “Sing?” Eva said.

Rose smiled. “Go ask him,” she said, and Eva jumped from the bed, dashing into the other room. Jan yawned and held out his arms to Rose. She chuckled. “Come on,” she said, picking the boy up and carrying him.

Silas had pulled on a union suit and a pair of trousers. He was sitting on the bed, tugging on his boots, and Eva was seated beside him, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes fixed on him in that innocent gaze of a child asking for something. “Sing?” she asked again, to which Silas chuckled.

“Why don’t _you_ sing today?” he said, but Eva wouldn’t have it. She shook her head and pointed at him.

“No. _Siiiiiiing_!”

He shook his head. “There’s no arguing with you.” He sighed and then, after thinking for a moment, began to sing in a low voice:

 _“Of all the money that e’er I had_  
_I spent it in good company_  
_And all the harm I’ve ever done_  
_Alas, it was to none but me.”_

Rose sat Jan down at the table and peered over her shoulder at Silas and Eva. The girl had closed her eyes and was swaying back and forth slightly as he sang. Her back to them as she stirred the porridge, Rose closed her eyes for a moment as well, the sound of Silas’s voice the only thing she took in. Then he stopped and Eva giggled. Rose opened her eyes and glanced back to see him tickle her under her chin.

“And that’s all for now,” he said as he stood and walked towards Rose. His gait was much improved now, but he still moved stiffly. Sometimes, Rose could tell he was in pain, but he tried to mask it. But when he gritted his teeth or closed his eyes and held his breath, she knew.

Rose grasped a pistol in one hand and a pail of oats in the other. “I’ll be back,” she said, wrapping a coat around her. She and Silas took turns patrolling the property, keeping an eye out for any unusual activity on the fringes of the plain. It had been quiet lately, and Rose supposed it had to do with the weather. Everyone was huddled inside their homes or camps, focusing more on staying fed and warm than they were on tracking down bounties.

Rose stepped into her boots and out into the porch. From there, she could survey the landscape. There had been no more snow since the first downfall, but it had been so bitter cold that what was on the ground couldn’t melt. The blanket of snow made the west seem even more silent, made the little cabin seem even more isolated — just a dot against a sea of white.

She walked out across the property, heading first towards the hitching post. Eva had taken to calling the horses by new names each day. Yesterday, the black mare had been Agnes, the gelding Josef, and the bay Hilda. Rose wondered if the names would stick; personally, she thought of the spirited bay mare as Aila — _coming from a resilient place_. She hazarded her hand close to the mare’s nose. The horse shied away, but when Rose clicked her tongue and cooed, she relaxed, allowing Rose to brush a finger down her forehead. “Good girl,” Rose said, offering her the bucket. She nosed into it, crunching until it was all gone. Rose would have to come back with more for the others.

Then she set off, keeping an eye on the tree line. There was a bluster of movement, a couple of branches swaying, and Rose stopped, dropping to her knee and cocking the pistol. A pair of crows burst from the trees, letting out a couple of harsh _caaws_. Then there was nothing but stillness again. She sighed and eased the hammer back down. The rest of her walk revealed no threats.

Back inside the cabin, Silas caught her eye from his place at the table. She shook her head. “All quiet,” she said. The children were eating — or perhaps fighting with the porridge, as it was splattered all over them. “This is a mess,” she said, wiping a splotch of it from under Jan’s eye. She noticed it was dribbled all down his shirt as well, and a large patch on Eva’s dress was similarly drenched. “Let’s get you changed,” she said, sliding back the boy’s chair. He pouted and crossed his arms, not wanting to end his new-found game of throwing food, but when Rose fixed the sternest gaze she could manage on him, he plopped down from the chair and trooped into the bedroom. Eva had a handful of porridge, her hand ready to fling it across the table at Silas.

“Hey!” Silas said, both a jest and a warning. The girl giggled and dropped the porridge with a _slop_ on the table. Still giggling, she ducked behind Rose.

“Come on,” Rose said, guiding the girl into the room. She rifled through the pile of clothes on the floor, selecting a couple things that might work. Her project of altering a dress for Eva had turned out horrendously, with uneven hems and torn seams. She’d ended up hacking off a few inches from the bottom of a dress and rolling up the sleeves, which made Eva look slightly ridiculous. Rose tossed a couple of items that would be far too big onto the floor, and then looked over at the children. She sighed. They ended up in a pair of men’s shirts that draped down to their knees and hung past their hands.

Rose brought the balled-up clothes out into the front room and dropped them in the wash basin. Silas was cleaning the rifles at the table, smoking a cigar. He glanced up and raised an eyebrow when Eva paraded out into the room in her new attire.

“I need to get better at sewing,” Rose said with a sheepish smile.

“Rose —” Silas started to speak, but then Eva interrupted him.

“Doll?” she said, looking back and forth between the two of them. Rose looked around, bent down, and peered under the table to see the cornhusk doll lying under one of the chairs. She handed it to Eva, who beamed and skipped into the other room.

Once she was gone, Silas tried again. “Rose, they need things. We need things. So do the horses.”

“I know,” she said. She’d been trying not to eye their stores or think about how, with every meal, they depleted what they’d built up. She only wanted to live in the warm glow of the present. But with the impending winter in the back of her mind, though, she couldn’t help but let the worry creep back in.

“We can get supplies,” he said. “Find a town. Buy what we can. Trade.”

Her stomach tightened at the very thought. Leave home? Leave the one safe place she had? “We can’t,” she said. “ _I_ can’t.”

“You can,” said Silas. “You cover your face, wear a bandana. No one would know who you are.”

“Silas, I _can’t_.” Her voice was louder and more strained than she’d intended. “Not anymore.”

Silas raised an eyebrow. “Can’t or won’t?” He looked frustrated, disappointed.

“What?”

“You think you can just hide here for the rest of your life?” His gaze on her was sharp, his eyes without a touch of sympathy. “You think you’ll last the winter with what you have here?”

Rose shook her head. “Of course not.” She knew that — she knew it acutely.

Silas shrugged his shoulders. “Then what?”

The thought of traveling beyond the plain, of encountering strangers, set her gut roiling. All at once, she felt everything they had built in the time they had together was threatened. “I’m not ready.”

Silas rolled his eyes. “Rose, I know you’re afraid —”

“I’m not afraid!” She raised her voice, but she wasn’t sure it was enough to convince him — or herself, for that matter.

Silas chewed his cigar and looked away, speaking under his breath. “Like hell you aren’t.”

“Excuse me?” Her fear was giving way to annoyance. She wanted him to look at her and say whatever it was he wasn’t saying. He glanced up, meeting her strident gaze.

“I thought you were smarter than this,” he said. “Stronger. Instead, you just hide here and let people die for you.”

And with those words, he inflamed her heart. She felt the betrayal burn as the heat rose in her cheeks and her posture stiffened. “I am strong!” she said, her cry echoing around the cabin. She remembered the person she used to be, who was nothing like the person she was now. “I made it this far without you!” She stabbed a finger at him. “I saved your life! You know what I’ve done!”

“Then prove it!” said Silas, his voice rising to meet hers.

“What do you want me to do?” She threw out her arms, her voice desperate. “I’m not like you, Silas! I can’t just stop feeling when it’s inconvenient!”

“Sure, you can. If that’s what you need to do, then do it.”

And she was reminded with sharp, painful clarity that nothing was safe. She was a fool to think it was. All the fear she thought she’d outrun — it was returning. Always on her heels. Always waiting to consume her.

“Is it so wrong to feel?” Rose pointed to the room behind them. “Silas, there are two children in there. And yes, you’re right — I am afraid. I’m terrified almost every day that I’m not going to be able to keep them safe. But I need to feel that, because being afraid is what makes me try. And for their sake, I have to believe they could be safe.”

Silas scoffed, leaning forward. “Jesus Christ, Rose, wake up. This place, all of this —” he gestured around, “It may seem good, it may seem safe, but it ain’t. It can’t last. Nothing good makes it here anymore. You need to accept that.”

She stopped, her lips parted. “So that’s it?” He said it so plainly, so matter of fact. Even when he shared her bed and even when he’d promised to stay with her, this was what he thought. “Nothing lasts?”

He shook his head, his jaw set. “Never has.”

Rose exhaled, and when she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “You really believe that?” Silas lifted and dropped one shoulder in a shrug. “If that’s true, then why stay?” she asked. “Why try?” He said nothing. She swallowed, fighting away the instinct of tears. _Not now_ , she thought. _I won’t cry for this._ “You should just go,” she said as she turned back towards the bedroom.

“Rose, I’m not going unless you come with me.”

She turned back, shaking her head. “No, I mean _go_. Drift. That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?” He stared at her, face blank. She shrugged. “Nothing lasts and you don’t feel anything anyway. It was wrong of me to ask you to stay. It was wrong of me to —” She stopped herself. “It doesn’t matter.” Rose gestured to the door. “Just go.”

“That’s what you want?” His eyes were still locked on hers from across the room, but he made no move to stand.

And then the tears welling in her eyes broke free and she marched through the room and out the door before he could see. Out on the porch, she slammed her fist into the post.

 _Stupid._ What had she thought? That the arrival of one person would change the fact that she’d lost and killed? That she could forget and move on so quickly? Silas was right about one thing: She knew she couldn’t hide away forever. But knowing didn’t make it any easier. It didn’t make it easier to trust.

She had been wrong to think she was at peace. She would never be at peace.

Rose walked slowly from the porch, wiping her cheeks. She came upon the mounded-up snow that covered the fresh graves of those who had perished at the house — where the people she cared about rested. She knelt in the snow in front of them, looking down at her hands.

“I don’t know what to do, Da,” she whispered. John Ross had been a simple man with strong faith and a determination to adhere to his rigid sense of morality. He’d been devastated about the accident with Lord Cavendish, wracked with guilt, sitting up late nights with his head bowed in prayer. He wanted judgment. Rose knew he had even considered turning himself in. But instead, he had booked passage for them to America. “My only concern,” he’d said to her as they’d hunkered down on the ship over, “is keeping you safe.”

And, for the first time since she’d lost him, Rose let herself weep. She hung her head, shuddering sobs racking her body. She loved her father, and she would never see him again. That thought made Rose’s heart ache with an even stronger loneliness.

She felt the lightest brush against her shoulder, like a hand touching her. When she raised her head and looked around, though, she saw no one. She rubbed her shoulder, confused, and then she heard a small sound, nearly lost in the open plain. It sounded like her father’s voice.

“You’ll make it, Rose.”

She couldn’t know what it was — Rose didn’t believe in ghosts or communication from beyond the grave. But it felt too real to just be her imagination.

She took a few breaths, trying to steady herself. If there was one thing she had learned from her father, it was his strength. Even when they’d endured a particularly tough year, he remained sturdy. Even during the hardest winter they’d faced, their first year in the west, he kept his resolve. And she got the feeling now that he wasn’t far, that his strength had passed on to her somehow. She might feel alone, but she would make it.

Rose stood up, the knees of her trousers soaked through. Only then did she feel the cold from the snow and the chill in the air. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned back to the cabin, stopping in her tracks when she saw the figure sitting on the porch.

Silas flung away his cigar and hauled himself to his feet. Rose didn’t move; instead, he came to her, taking a couple steps from the porch. Then he halted, leaving a few feet of space between them, his hands in his trouser pockets.

“That was wrong of me,” he said in a low voice. “I thought I could make you see — but I shouldn’t have said it. Any of it. ’m sorry.” He cleared his throat, his eyes on the ground at her feet. “But if you want me to leave, I will.” He glanced up at her, his head still hung. “Do you want me to go?”

She thought back to what he had said. “You said nothing makes it,” she said. “Nothing good.”

“It never has for me.”

“What about this?” Rose asked. She knew she didn’t have to tell him what she meant — she could tell he knew. Whatever it was between them.

Silas didn’t move for a moment, his eyes on the ground. Then he shook his head. “I dunno,” he said. And then his eyes met hers from under his brow. “But I want it to.” He swallowed. “I want it because — I love you, Rose.”

At first, Rose thought she’d heard him wrong. Maybe she was hearing things again. But he held her gaze, his eyes unguarded in the sincerest and most vulnerable expression she had ever seen. She exhaled slowly and shakily, trying to make sense of it.

He loved her?

“You asked how you can tell, and I still don’t know,” he continued. “But I can’t bear to be apart from you. You’re not like anyone I know, and I feel — when I’m with you, I feel — I dunno, like it’s worth it. Like it means something.”

He loved her. And she knew it.

She knew it, the way she never had with Jay. The way she felt better when he was around, the way they could speak to each other plainly, the way they’d worked together. He loved her.

She wasn’t better because of him, but he gave her something to live for. He stood for everything this world could be and yet wasn’t. Silas had been through it; he had changed for the worse and for the better. And when they shared their darkness, it didn’t feel so heavy.

He loved her, and she knew. She loved him.

“Rose?” Silas said. She’d been silent for a while.

She crossed to him, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him — softly, slowly. After a moment, she pulled away. “I love you,” she said, her voice a breath in his ear. “And we’ll make it.”


	14. Dance

**Silas**

He glanced over at Rose again for what felt like the hundredth time since they’d started riding. He was watching for any sign of discomfort or indication that they should stop, and he would turn around without a moment of hesitation. Rose wore his hat, which threw most of her face in shadow, and the rest of it was covered by a bandana. The only things visible were her eyes, and they darted back and forth across the path in front of them. 

“You look like a real desperado,” Silas said around the cigar clamped between his teeth. He so wanted to smile, but he knew she wouldn’t find it funny.

From where she was perched on the horse behind him, Eva copied the word. “Desp’rado?” she said, the lilt of a question in her voice.

“I’ll explain it to you later, kid,” Silas said over his shoulder.

Rose was carrying herself stiffly, her shoulders hunched, her knuckles white where she was gripping the reins. Jan sat between her and the saddle horn, and her arms were tight around him. “Rose,” Silas said. She glanced over at him, her eyes peeking out from under the brim of the hat. “It’s okay.”

“Mmm.” Rose had spent a while preparing herself, and Silas was impressed with how she’d held up. In the weeks that passed after he’d confided in her the truth of his feelings, she had made commendable efforts to stretch the borders of her comfort. Rose patrolled into Silver Ghost, sometimes at his side, sometimes on her own. She cleaned and inspected the firearms daily, becoming just as scrupulous as he was.

But this was to be her first foray into some semblance of civilization. She’d been too worried to leave the children alone, and Silas agreed they might be cumbersome on a quick run into town. So he’d gone alone, counting the minutes until he could return.

Some days had certainly been better than others for Rose. She still woke in the middle of the night, panting and sweating, from nightmares she wouldn’t tell him about. Sometimes, he caught her pausing by the mounded earth where her father was buried. But she was certainly progressing. She _was_ strong — in many more ways than he gave her credit for. He realized it would take time for both of them. Maybe it was his tough love that inspired her, but he had the feeling it was something more. He would be a fool to think he had control over anything she did or didn’t do.

And that was a relief.

“How much farther?” Rose said. It wasn’t the first or second or even third time she’d asked.

Silas looked around, ascertaining their location. “Not too far now,” he said. “We’ll be there soon.”

He waited for her to ask how soon that was, but she remained quiet. He knew she was nervous, but last night and early this morning and before they’d left, she’d insisted on making the trip.

Silas flicked the reins, spurning the horse — which today, Eva called Dumbom — into a faster pace. Beside him, Rose caught up, and then she glanced over. Her eyes were sparkling, and even though he couldn’t see her mouth, Silas knew she was smiling.

“Hold on, Jan,” he heard her say, and then she dug in her heels and took off. Silas grinned and quickened his pace. Behind him, Eva squealed with delight as they raced out of the trees, wind whipping their faces. Rose was still ahead of him, but he pushed his horse until he closed the gap, galloping up alongside her. She raced forward, and they continued neck-and-neck up over a crest.

“Whoa!” Rose came to a stop, her horse tossing its feet in anticipation. Down the bluff before them was a dusty little town, really just ten or fifteen buildings scattered in the valley. On his other outings, Silas had usually avoided this place — there wasn’t much to see except an inn, a couple of drunks, and a single general store — but it would be the best place for Rose. It was small and out of the way enough that they could be just another couple of anonymous travelers passing through.

Rose remained at the edge of the bluff, staring down. He knew she was fighting with her instincts, telling herself it was all right even though she still feared the unknown. Silas wanted to give her some word of encouragement, but she needed to make the decision on her own. 

After another moment of staring down at the town below them, Rose made sure Jan was situated on the saddle and grasped the reins. Then she snapped them and started down the bluff. Silas was flooded with a feeling he might never had felt before: pride. Eva squeezed his middle from behind, not wanting to be left behind. “Go, go!” she said in a whine.

He dug in his heels. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and he started the descent. The horse’s footing was sure through the loose rock and steep ledges. He followed Rose’s path as they zagged back and forth along the bluff until they reached the bottom and set off towards the little town.

Of late, more and more settlements like this had been cropping up across the west. There were still wild places — miles and miles of untouched landscape — but man was beginning to make a place out here. The traders and miners who had come to Colorado territory for prosperity had stayed, creating permanent residences. Silas predicted it wouldn’t be long before settlements were more plentiful and the territory became a full-fledged state.

Rose dismounted ahead of him, lifting Jan from the saddle before she tied the horse up at the hitching post. Silas drew his own horse to a stop and Rose helped Eva down. “You all right?” Silas asked Rose in a low voice. She nodded but didn’t speak. She took Jan’s hand in one of hers and Eva’s in the other and, with a glance back at Silas, started into the town. Silas adjusted the cigar between his lips and followed at a distance. His eyes roved over Rose’s form for a moment in appreciation. She wore a skirt today, looking to anyone else like a subservient farmer’s wife. But Silas knew she had a pistol holstered at her waist and a knife in her boot.

Silas looked around, keeping a sharp eye on the man in a dark suit leaning against the porch of one of the buildings. The man met Silas’s gaze and then looked away. Silas felt his muscles tense, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. But the man didn’t even look at Rose; he just leaned over and spat into a brass spittoon beside him. Strains of disjointed banjo music started, and up ahead, Silas spotted an old man sitting on the steps of the town’s inn, strumming the instrument with arthritic fingers.

To their left was a general store, so Silas got Rose’s attention and jerked his head towards it. Rose led the way again, flanked by the children. They went inside and Silas hung back for a moment, looking back for the man in the suit. He must have gone inside, as Silas could no longer find him. Fingering the pistol on his belt, Silas crossed into the store.

The shelves were scarcely stocked, considering it was winter and supplies were hard to come by. The storekeeper was a plump, middle-aged woman who wore an apron tied tightly around her middle and was in the middle of darning a pair of socks. She didn’t even look up from her work when they entered.

Eva and Jan had broken from Rose’s hold and were examining a glass vase, looking at each other through it and giggling at each other’s distorted faces. Rose pulled the bandana down from her face. “Be careful,” she said, her tone of voice warning enough for Eva to take a step back from the vase.

Silas went straight to the cans and jars, grabbing an armful that would last them for a while. Rose was sorting through bolts of fabric piled up next to a bundle of clothes. She lifted a small pair of trousers and held them up to Jan to see if they’d fit him.

“Those were my grandson’s,” the storekeeper spoke up. Rose whirled around when the woman spoke, and Silas saw her take a deep breath to collect herself. “God rest his soul.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Rose said.

The woman nodded. “Thank you, dear. How old are yours?”

Rose bit her lip. They’d been able to get bits and pieces of information from Eva as she’d acquired more words, but she wasn’t able to tell them her age. “Eight and four,” Rose said. Silas raised his eyebrows. Evidently she’d decided on their ages.

The woman smiled. “They’re precious.”

Rose went back to sorting through the clothes, this time with Eva peeking out from behind her. As Silas looked at the stores of ammunition, he heard Eva let out a little exclamation in Swedish once in a while. He plopped down the cans and a couple of boxes of ammo on the counter. Rose met him there, her arms laden with several bolts plus a couple of coats and other items of clothing. She set them down as well. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. She touched her fingers to his, just for a moment, and although she wasn’t smiling, she didn’t look panicked or afraid.

“This everything?” the storekeeper asked, assessing their merchandise.

“Oats?” Silas said. The woman pointed to the far corner of the store and Rose went over, selecting a bag and hoisting it onto her shoulder. The storekeeper was counting up everything when Eva darted over to the counter and slid a cloth doll on top, as though she could sneak it in with everything else. Silas looked down at Jan, who was watching his sister with wide eyes.

“Might as well grab something, too, kid,” Silas said to the boy. Jan sucked on his finger, looking over at the couple of hand-carved train cars just out of his reach. Silas crouched and picked one up, holding it out to the boy. “This good?” he asked. Jan nodded, whether or not he understood the question.

All of the items accounted for, Silas paid with the money Jay had paid him for safe passage. Silas hadn’t been able to give him that, but at least he could give him this: Three people were going to make it through the winter.

Four people. Silas had forgotten to include himself.

The storekeeper placed something on top of their purchases and gave Silas a coy smile. He looked down at it, perplexed, and picked it up. It was a pin made from a bundle of purple silk about an inch in diameter, stitched together to resemble a flower. “For your sweet wife,” the woman said.

Rose had just brought the sack of oats up to the front of the store, and when she heard what the woman had said, her cheeks burned red. But Silas was surprised to find the assumption didn’t bother him — not in the slightest. He reached forward, gripping Rose’s lapel between his thumb and forefinger and pinning the flower in place. She looked up at him, the blush fading from her face, as she gave him a soft smile. God, he wanted to kiss her right there, right in front of some stranger. Instead, he nodded his head towards the door.

“Let’s drift,” he said.

“Eva!” Rose’s call pulled the girl away from the mirror hanging on the far wall, where Eva had been making ridiculous faces at herself. She skipped over, collecting her doll, and led the way out of the store. Jan was right behind her, running to keep up with her longer legs. Silas heaved the heavy bag of feed onto his good shoulder while Rose gathered up everything else.

They emerged into the bright winter sun. The street was empty but for the plucky banjo tune. The man across the road was playing at a faster pace now, his mouth screwed up in concentration as his fingers danced along the strings. Eva grabbed her brother’s hand and gamboled out towards the source of the music. Holding both of Jan’s wrists, she leapt and spun, completely disregarding time as she danced wildly out of rhythm.

Rose laughed as she watched the children dance, a sweet sound that brought a grin to Silas’s face. She was here, she had made it, and she was laughing. He set down the sack and turned to her, lifting the pile of clothes from her arms and putting them down next to the feed. “What?” she asked. He took her hand.

“Come on,” he said.

She laughed again, but she let him lead her over where the children were dancing. He put a hand on her waist and took her wrist, placing her hand lightly on his chest. He may not have had an ear for music, but could at least sway back and forth. Eva let out a whoop, and Rose chuckled. Then she looked up at Silas, serious.

“That woman thought I was your wife,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows. “You saying you wouldn’t have me?”

“And if I am?” Rose asked.

He grinned. “True. Maybe you’re better off.”

She moved her hand from his chest to touch his cheek. “No,” she said. “I’ll have you. Now and forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This story is about wrapped up -- there's one chapter and a short epilogue left!


	15. Spring

**Rose**

Spring brought a thaw. The winter had been a series of wet snows, leaving the countryside laden with drifts for several months. But near about April, the sun reappeared, blue hues returned to the sky, and the snow began to melt, leaving behind patches of slushy mud.

The cabin seemed to have grown smaller over the winter. In some ways, it was welcome. Like the way the boundaries between Rose and Silas slowly dissipated until there was nothing between them. They stole any spare moment that wasn’t concerned with the children or stocking up food and firewood for the two of them alone. They’d been able to barter for an extra bed, pushing it against the other for more space so they could spend the darkest hours of each night entwined. And then they spent the early hours of the morning talking in low voices, wrapped around each other, recalling the past and speculating about the future. Rose lived for those moments, when nothing else seemed to exist but the two of them.

Predictably, the close confines also led to Eva and Jan growing bored and stubborn. There was many a petty squabble between the two and more than one instance of sobbing after one grabbed a toy from the other. When their ornery natures flared up, all it usually took was a stern glare from Rose and the aggressor fell silent. On the rare occasion that didn’t work, Silas would just lift one of them up and carry them away, distracting them with a song until their eyes lit up with interest and they forgot about tormenting their sibling.

Rose had taken to reading to them. At first, she chose only simple stories, fairy tales from the old book she’d brought with her from Scotland. But as the months wore on, the children grew weary of the same stories and so did she, so Rose moved on to longer tales — _Ruth_ and _Oliver Twist_ and _Ivanhoe_. Much of it was surely far beyond their understanding, but even so, they would sit at her feet, gazing up in rapt attention. And as time went on, hearing her words gave them more they could use themselves. They repeated words constantly, even rattling off phrases. Sometimes, Eva peeked at the book, pointing to words for Rose to speak aloud. The children held broken conversations in English with each other, filling in the gaps with Swedish.

And then, that early spring morning, Eva uttered her first full, perfect sentence in English. She pointed out the open door, calling to everyone else in the cabin: “The snow is all gone!”

Rose stood up from her seat at the table and watched as Jan nearly tripped over himself to get to the door. That made Silas chuckle as he joined Rose in the doorway. Eva had already gone out into the wet sludge and dropped to her knees, running her hands over the gray grass. Jan laughed, his small voice echoing across the plain, and he joined his sister, the two of them racing off towards the horses. There was a fresh scent of newness in the air, and Rose felt that anticipation of the liveliness that would soon burst forth in the world.

In more ways than one.

She had suspected for a while now but hadn’t said anything in case she was misreading the signs. It wouldn’t do to jump to conclusions about something like this. But with nearly three months having passed without her monthly course, Rose was certain.

She just wasn’t certain how to tell him.

Silas started down from the porch towards the expanse where the wheat field had once been. Rose followed and slipped her hand into his. He gestured to the empty area. “We can replant,” he said.

“I think we could put some potatoes there,” Rose said, pointing farther away.

Silas nodded. “Sugar beets, too.”

“And what about cattle?” Rose said, turning to face him.

“Sure,” he said with a smirk. “As many cattle as you want.”

One of the children shrieked from behind them, and they both looked back. But it was only out of joy — they were brushing one of the horse’s tails, and it kept flicking back and forth.

“They’re good kids,” said Silas, watching them.

“They are.” Over the past few months, she had mothered them, bringing them up as best she could. She got to know their personalities, their strengths and weaknesses, the little things about them that made them unique. She hoped they would forget the atrocities they’d lived through and remember only the world they inhabited now. “You think of them as family, don’t you?”

Silas didn’t answer at first. “Closest thing I’ve got,” he said at last.

A smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth. “We could raise a family here,” she said.

He looked over at her, eyes narrowed. “We could,” he said with a nod.

She raised her eyebrows. “We will.”

At this, he cocked his head, a crease between his eyebrows. “What do you mean?” he asked, although his tone suggested he already had an idea of what she meant.

“Silas.” Rose took a breath. “I’m in the family way.”

His eyes widened, his lips parted. He leaned closer. “You’re sure?”

She nodded. “I’m sure.” For a long moment, his face remained frozen, and Rose started to think he wasn’t going to say anything.

Then, a grin spread across his face, starting slow, until it reached from ear to ear. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up against him, his head buried in her neck. She laughed — the meaning of the moment striking her all at once.

They now had the chance to start over. Come harvest time, they would have new crops, new livestock, and a new child — one that would be part Rose and part Silas. There were vast possibilities stretching out in front of them, and Rose was ready to embrace them. The uncertainty that had once left her so paralyzed now offered the potential of a new life, for the unborn child and for the rest of them as well.

Silas set her feet back on the ground and pressed a line of kisses along her jaw. The children, sensing that they were missing something, had gravitated over, and Jan blew a raspberry. They still didn’t exactly enjoy seeing displays of affection between Rose and Silas.

Rose pulled away and bent down so she was at eye level with the children. “I have some good news,” she said.

“Good?” Jan repeated.

“Very good,” said Rose. Explaining took a few tries, using a few different terms. Then, Eva looked at Jan for a few moments, and then back at Rose.

“Baby?” she said. She gestured at Jan. “Another brother?” Her voice was a little weary at the thought, and Rose laughed.

“Maybe,” she said. Jan was still befuddled, and Rose assumed it was too much for him to comprehend.

Eva shrugged, and then skipped off chanting, “Baby, baby, baby!” Silas’s hand was on Rose’s back as she stood up.

“Do you feel different?” he asked.

Rose hadn’t had the sickness she’d heard other women complain about. But every once in a while, when she’d lain in bed and thought about the possibility of life brewing inside her, she felt a little warmth blossom in her heart. And now, with the hopeful prospect of the future strong in her mind, the feeling returned.

“I do,” she said. They headed back towards the house, and when they crossed the threshold, Silas stopped, taking his hand away from her back for a moment. He glanced up. “What?” Rose asked. She looked up as well — the only thing above the doorframe was an old horseshoe. She’d almost forgotten about it.

Silas smirked and went to the pantry, rooting around in the toolbox for a moment. He returned, holding a hammer, a nail clamped between his lips. He dragged one of the spindly chairs over towards the door and climbed up on it, adjusting the horseshoe so the ends were pointing up once more. As the superstition went, it would hold their luck inside. Silas nailed it in place and got down, his leg still stiff.

He put an arm around her waist and drew her to him. “I used to think my luck ran out,” he said. Then he shook his head. “I was wrong.”

And when their lips met, it felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you a thousand times for reading! Epilogue is coming up!


	16. Epilogue

**Andrew Jay**

Out of all his brothers and sisters, Andrew Jay was the least like his parents. Visually, he was the spitting image of his father, with auburn hair, dark blue eyes, and broad shoulders. But he had none of his father’s dry wit or harsh determination. Nor did he possess his mother’s penchant for speaking the right words, keeping a level head, always knowing what to do.

His sister Grace was sharp as a tack, reading and re-reading every book on the shelf and lapsing into long conversations about them with Mama. Little Ruth — she was a firecracker, always ready for action, a girl after Papa’s own heart. And Henry, at only five years old, showed promising signs of both their father’s heart and their mother’s bravery. Even Andrew Jay’s older siblings — who he knew weren’t _really_ his siblings, but they might as well have been — seemed to have touches of his parents in them, in the way they talked or laughed or worked.

But not Andrew Jay. He felt sometimes that he was of a different stock, like maybe he’d been dropped in the wrong house by accident, entrusted to the wrong family. That’s not to say he didn’t love them. Of course he did — dearly. And he knew they loved him. But he was more content to count the stars or read old tomes of mythology than he was to hunt or fish or ride. He was at home in his own mind and didn’t often feel the need to venture out into the world.

Every so often, he would say aloud something that tickled his fancy, like whether there were mermen that lived and breathed below the sea or if animals could all speak to each other in their own language. When he said things like this, his mother would catch his father’s eye and a look would pass between them. Once, she’d even said, “He’s just like Jay.” When he asked her who Jay was, she only shook her head and told him it was someone they’d known a long time ago. And that was the end of it.

Except it wasn’t. Andrew Jay knew there was someone he was just like, someone he must have been named after. The question plagued him at night, when Jan’s snoring kept him awake, so he stared up at the ceiling, pondering: _Who is it I’m like?_

It wasn’t until the summer he turned ten that Andrew Jay finally mustered up the courage to ask again. It was the end of a long day of work, full of sweaty-backed weeding and muscle-aching reaping. The sun had arced towards the horizon, bathing the plain in a golden wash. They were all lined up on the front porch: Papa and Andrew Jay and Jan and Eva and Grace, who announced proudly that since she was now nine, she was old enough to help. Ruth and Henry, who were still too little, were supposed to be inside asleep, but if Mama’s low lullaby issuing through the door was any indication, they were fighting it.

Andrew Jay glanced over at his father. There were bits of gray sprouting in his beard, but his eyes had the playful glint of a much younger man. Papa often said the west took its toll on a man, but if that was true, he was deep in debt to it. “Who am I named after?” Andrew Jay asked, his voice breaking the twilight silence.

His father looked over at him, wearing a good-natured smirk. “What makes you think you’re named after anyone?”

“You and Mama said I’m just like Jay,” he said. “Who is he?”

Papa grinned. “Sharp kid,” he said. Then he took a breath, brushing his hand along the top of his thigh. He glanced up to see the audience of three other children, all rapt with wide eyes. “Well, I see I have no choice,” he said. “It’s quite a story, though.” Andrew Jay folded his legs under him, and Grace leaned against her sister, preparing for the tale. Papa chuckled at this, and then he rubbed his chin, his eyes dazed in thought. “Let’s see…how does it start?” Then, as if the answer had suddenly come to him, he sat up straighter and surveyed his children, a gleam in his eye.

“Once upon a time — 1870, to be exact — a sixteen-year-old kid traveled from the cold shoulder of Scotland to the baking heart of America to find his love.” Papa’s eyes met Andrew Jay’s. “His name was Jay. Her name was Rose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been near and dear to me for several months now, so it's bittersweet to see it ending. When I started writing this, I had no idea if anyone would like it -- I just knew I adored these characters and wanted to tell their story. So thank you once again to everyone who read and commented. Let's drift.


End file.
